Steele Pursued
by RSteele82
Summary: (Canon Series) Part 1 of 2 from the Steele Tested series. Three months after Laura and Remington return home after their honeymoon and second marriage, the couple face numerous challenges: Remington's unexpected reaction to Laura's demands on a case; Laura withholding news of a potential new stalker from Remington; and a new adversary targeting the Agency.
1. Prologue

Part 1 of the Steele Tested series.

Three months after Laura and Remington return home after their honeymoon and second marriage, the couple face numerous challenges: Remington's unexpected reaction to Laura's demands on a case; Laura withholding news of a potential new stalker from Remington; and a new adversary targeting the Agency.

Many, many thanks to the words of encouragement from those who read these stories, most especially JH and Doey, whose wonderful, supportive words encourage me to continue on in my writing endeavors. Please know that I do read all feedback left and all private messages sent. They are each and every one of them received with a whole lot of awe and thanks.

As of this series, I will be publishing new chapters weekly, rather than waiting until the entire piece is fully written. Check back often for updates.

For the most effective reading, my work should be read in chronological order as many of my one off's are spun into the history of the characters later on down the line. The chronological order of what I've written to date are as follows:

Steele Torn & Trying to Holt On  
Cannes Steele be Trusted (co-written with the super-talented SuzySteele)  
Steele Mending  
Steele Working out the Details  
Steele Settling In  
Steele Finding Comfort  
Steele Holting on To Christmas  
Steele Holting on To The Holidays  
Holting on to the Moments  
Steele Cold Relief  
Steele Cloned  
Steele Hurdling Obstacles  
Steeling the Big Apple  
Steele Dying to Get it Right  
Holting Steele - Part 1 of 2 in the Be Steele My Heart series  
Be Steele My Heart – Part 2 of 2 in the Be Steele My Heart series  
Steele Pursued – Part 1 of 2 in the Steele Tested Series  
Steele Tested – Part 2 of 2 in the Steele Tested Series  
Steele Thankful  
Down the Rabbit Holt – Part 1 of 2 in the Steele in Wonderland Series

Prologue

 _Wednesday, October 1, 1986_

Mildred exited the bowling alley, a smile lighting her face. She and the Dragon Ladies – Hazel, Esther and Rose – had just captured the Women's League championship. That she'd come in over par, bowling a 218 while putting up a turkey during that same game, had helped seal the win for her team – despite the sandbaggers on the other team and their subsequently elevated handicaps. And what had their dishonesty earned them? _Bupkis_ , Mildred thought to herself, with no small amount of glee. She and the Ladies had shown those lousy cheats that solid play will beat cheating every time.

Her cheerful mood was not only due to the trophy held in her hand. It was also due in large part to the fact that Harrison Bumpers would be arriving in town the next day, and had asked her to dinner for that evening. Her love life was certainly heating up, as she'd been casually seeing Kevin Masters for several months, and now her old beau was arriving as well. She hadn't seen this much action since… well, never. She'd dated her ex-husband throughout high school and when their marriage fell apart years later, she'd, in general, adopted a 'to hell with all men' policy. Single life suited her, thank you very much, and since children were out of the picture for her, there had seemed to be little reason to tie herself down. But, as she'd watched middle age begin creeping past in the rear view mirror, the thought of living out the rest of her life alone had lost its appeal.

Of course, watching her kids and how happy they'd been since they'd finally stopped dancing around each other and grabbed onto what they had was certainly an inspiration. If the two of them could stand up to their demons and claim what they'd been fighting against for years, who was she to give the kibosh to the possibility of love? All her reasons suddenly seemed silly in hindsight, and she was ready and raring to give it another go.

Ball bag in hand, she hustled across the parking lot towards her ten-year-old sedan. Old Faithful might not be the prettiest car in the lot, but she had yet to leave Mildred on the side of the road, which was good enough for her. Oh, she enjoyed it when the Boss let her use the Auburn. It was quite the hotrod, as they'd called such beauties in her day. But it was nothing if not high maintenance, and the last thing Mildred Krebs was interested in was anything high maintenance.

Stopping, she unlatched her purse to grab her keys out of it, noticing far too late the sound of the car gunning straight for her. She could only turn, and watch as the lights blinded her in the split second before it hit her. Lifted from her feet by the force of the car, she hit the ground, where she lay still.

The car stopped as the driver looked through the rearview mirror, carefully assessing their work. Seeing no movement, they smiled then cackled gleefully before pressing the accelerator to the floor and screeching out of the parking lot.

 _One member of the illustrious Remington Steele Agency down, two to go_ , the driver celebrated.

(TBC)


	2. Chapter 1: Discoveries & Intrusions

Chapter 1: Discoveries and Intrusion

 _Friday, September 26, 1986_

A pair of lips explored the elegant column of a neck, while long, tapered fingers traced the curve of a waist before smoothing over the sensitive skin there.

While it was rare for Remington to awaken before Laura, most especially on a work day, when he did he sought to awaken his lovely partner, dearest friend and wife in the most pleasant of ways possible. He could think of few things that started his own day off better than her soft hums of contentment as her mind recognized there was something far more scintillating awaiting her outside of her dreams. She turned towards him in her sleep. Lifting his lips from her skin, his hand left her waist to sweep her hair over her shoulder. A smile played on his lips. _Three months since we wed and I still can't believe she's mine,_ he mused.

He'd once believed he knew about all there was to know about Laura Steele, nee Holt. In those three plus months since they'd surrendered their hearts to one another, he was simultaneously stunned and thrilled to discover he'd likely not even tapped into the well of those things he didn't know about his captivating bride.

He'd learned the answer to the question Marcos had posed to him in Greece: Laura was not formally trained in piano but had learned at the elbow of the beloved, paternal grandmother who had gifted her the cherished piano that was lost when Veckmer blew up her house. Those piano lessons were well hidden from Abigail so that music, like dance, wouldn't become a matter of showcasing her talented child but instead would remain something all Laura's own. After her grandmother passed away, Laura continued her commitment to her music as she found it made her feel close to the woman who had given her unconditional love and support during the tumultuous years before and after her father's disappearance.

John Holt's mother, Olivia, never made excuses for her son's absence. In her eyes, he had done the unforgiveable: It was one thing to end a marriage and quite another to abandon one's children. It was for that reason alone that the same home which had been blown up, her grandmother's home, had been bequeathed to Laura and Frances upon her death. Frances, married and living in Connecticut by then, was more than happy to sell her interest in the property to her younger sister. Thus, at the tender age of twenty-two years old, fresh out of college and beginning a new career, Laura became a homeowner as well. When Veckmer had bombed her house, he'd taken away more than simply a house. He'd taken away a large part of her childhood, the place where the memories of her grandmother were stored, her sanctuary, her safe haven.

The night that Laura had laid, head in his lap, stroking the palm of his hand held in her own and told him of the story of her house, he'd made love to her with exquisite tenderness afterwards. He had known several years before that the loss of the house had been devastating, but realizing the true depth of that loss and how she'd stood strong in the face of it, had only emphasized how truly remarkable she was and reminded him of his sheer good fortune that she'd chosen him to share her life with.

He touched his lips against her eyelids, barely making contact, smiling as he watched the corners of her lips twitch while she continued to sleep on.

They'd hit a troubling patch after returning home from their extended honeymoon in Europe. After he'd watched Laura have a full-fledged panic attack fueled by the fear that she had no idea how to be married and may well be less than successful at the endeavor, he'd overcompensated in an attempt to allay her fears. He made it a point of rising early each morning, making sure breakfast was ready and waiting for her, the bed made, the flat picked up each morning before work. He took charge of grocery shopping, laundry, cooking – of course –, after meal clean up, and even general cleaning of the house. Instead of assuaging her fears, he'd inadvertently fed them. She became more and more withdrawn as she grew to think his efforts were a reflection of his belief that she was incapable of any domestic function. He in turn had begun to convince himself that his own fears were materializing before his eyes: That once they returned home to LA she'd come to regret her decision to finally give herself fully over to them.

He'd discovered the cause of her unhappiness quite inadvertently. He'd been in the process of making the bed one morning when she emerged from the bathroom where she'd been getting ready for work. He watched her eyes flick to the bed, before the light went out in her eyes and she carefully blanked her face. After years by her side he knew well that she was adept at hiding behind a stoic façade when she was either most upset or trying to hide something. In this case, it had been both.

He tested his theory that evening when they came home from work. Freely allowing his exhaustion to show, which he himself had been concealing from her during weeks of too little sleep and the shouldering of too much responsibility, when they'd finished dinner she had encouraged him to relax with a movie while she cleaned up after the meal and he had willingly agreed. That night, for the first time in more than a week, she'd come to his side voluntarily and snuggled into him to watch the remainder of the movie. The next morning, he fussed and groused when she tried to get him up for work, and by the time he finally pulled his slim form from the bed, it was to receive a cup of tea in his hand and a kiss on the cheek as she left the apartment smiling. Over the next few days, the more he let things fall to the wayside, the more she picked up his slack and the happier she became. Eventually division of domestic duties fell along the lines of the natural likes and dislikes as well as abilities. Remington cooked, did the grocery shopping and arranged the drop off and pick up of the dry cleaning. Laura took over after meal clean up, household laundry and the weekly dusting. Together they shared responsibility for keeping the house neat and orderly, although he couldn't resist leaving his socks lying around every once in a while just to hear her complain in good-humor.

Crafty fingers slid buttons free from a pajama top, then brushed aside the fabric so that adored freckles could be worshiped with a pair of lips. Laura hummed low in her throat and began to stir.

One of the most magnificent discoveries about the woman beside him was that, as he'd suspected for years, she was his match in every way when it came to their physical relationship. They craved one another endlessly, both amazed that with each passing day they didn't find their need for one another remotely slaked, instead finding that it only continued to grow. In one moment, their desire for one another might ignite a need that led them to satisfy their hunger hard and swift while in yet another it was a game in which bets were won and lost with delightful consequences. Then there were the even more playful times, when they would tease, laugh and try to one up each other. For certain, he'd never talked so much during the course of sex, and Laura, twisted little vixen that she could be a times, would often force him to engage in conversation when his brain had simply turned to mush while his body quivered from her touch.

Then there was, of course, the fact that he'd believed he'd some time ago uncovered all the deliciously sensitive parts of her body that would leaving her gasping as tremors passed through her. To discover that a gentle suckle over the pulse of her wrist would leave her knees nearly buckling even as her fingers contracted and that a similar movement in the crook of her arm would speed up her breath and send a shimmer across her body were positively delightful new discoveries – and ones oft exploited in public so he could enjoy the flush that would spread across her skin as she attempted to maintain her prim and proper countenance.

He discovered something new about himself in the bedroom as well: That there was nothing comparable to those moments when making love turned the corner to lovemaking, where fingers trailed, lips brushed, and each movement spoke of the love between them. He'd be left vulnerable in the moments after they found their releases in one another, feeling as though he had bared his soul to her and she to him. It was during those times he knew, without a doubt, that the four years they'd taken to develop the intimacy, trust, and, yes, their love for one another, had been well worth the endless cold showers and nerve-fraying frustration. Knowing what he knew now, he'd have waited another four, a decade, the rest of his life, just to be able to experience those times.

Laura stretched like a cat next to him, before opening her eyes and smiling at him. He lifted his head from where his lips continued to shower a trail of kisses against each of her freckles, as her fingernails scraped lightly through the hair on his chest while she hummed a pretty little tune. Fingers stroked through the hair on the side of her head.

"Good morning, Mrs. Steele," he greeted her with a smile, shifting to lean on an elbow to look down at her.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele," she smiled back at him. "Is something on your mind?" she asked lightly as fingers feathered over his ribs.

"Perhaps." A hand stroked the sensitive skin of a waist.

"Care to provide me a clue?" Her hand skimmed over the firm cheek of a pajama clad bottom.

"Do I really need to?" he asked with a lift of his brows as he shifted over her, his lips finding hers for a searing kiss, before leaving a series of small kisses across a cheek and jaw then finding the soft skin of a neck. Her arms reached around him so fingers could trail over his back. Automatically, he arched into her hands, the movement pressing his hardened length against her, drawing a hum of anticipation from her lips.

"No, I don't think that you do." She urged him to his back. Slipping off his pajama shirt, she slung a leg over his waist and straddled him. He lifted his brows at her, then grasping her waist, urged her high on her knees as he sat up to capture the tip of a breast between his lips. Smiling, she rose to his unstated challenge, her fingers tangling in the hair on his chest before teasingly tracing the sensitive nipples there. He half-chuckled, half-groaned, then lifting her further, folded himself over her, so that she was again underneath of him.

"No fair," she murmured.

"Of course not," he agreed as his lips found that place beneath her ear, suckling until her body quaked. Her fingers slipped under the band of pajama bottoms, her fingers toying with the bare flesh of his bottom. When he hummed, her hands left his bum and her nails lightly trailed up his back, making him arch into her hands again, before a pair of fingers dug into an area between two ribs, catching him off-guard. With a grin, she pressed again, flipping him back onto his back when he tried to escape her fingers.

"Laura…" he growled, as his hands skimmed over her waist then ribs. With a laugh she leaned down, pressing her lips to his, teasing him with her teeth and quick flicks of her tongue.

At a sharp rap on the front door, they froze, then together turned their heads to look at the alarm clock. Seven-fifteen.

"Ignore it," she whispered, sliding downwards, her lips moving to tantalize the skin beneath his ear. His hips bucked beneath her in response, while his hands moved to stroke over her breasts, drawing a soft moan from her as she arched her back, pressing herself into his hands. "Rem…" she murmured against his neck, her warm breath tickling his ear, sending goosebumps skittering across his skin. A palm on her back urged her to lean forward so a mouth could find a breast and lips could tease a hardened peak. She gasped, threading her fingers through his hair and urging him to continue.

The doorbell buzzed, repeatedly, in a staccato demand that someone answer. Once more they froze, this time both groaning in irritation, and drawing a string of creative epitaphs from him.

"Who in the blue blazes is up and about at this time?" he groused to her. "I'm trying to make love with my wife in here," he mock shouted towards the living room, expressing his irritation with the interruption.

Before he even finished the sentence, the doorbell sounded again, this time even more demandingly. The corner of Laura's lips quirked upwards when Remington's hands lifted to his face to scrub over it. Leaning down, she brushed her lips against his before climbing off of him and grabbing her robe off the end of the bed.

"I'll get rid of whoever it is," she told him as she shoved her arms into the sleeves.

"If it's Mildred, I swear to you Laura, I'm firing her this time," he grumbled.

"If it's Mildred, I'll sign her final paycheck," she agreed, giving the sash of her robe a hard tug as she tied it. With a flip of her head, she left the bedroom.

In the living room, Laura fairly yanked open the door. "This had better be good…" she began to snap towards whoever was at the door, the remainder of her sentence freezing on her lips as she looked at the pinched faced Gladys Lynch standing on the other side of the door.

 _Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God,_ she thought to herself, her eyes glancing towards the bedroom and the husband she'd left behind there. Her face belied none of this as she pasted on a smile for the benefit of the INS investigator.

"Miss Lynch," she greeted her, in a voice meant to carry to Remington in the bedroom. "Isn't it fairly early in the morning for a visit?" Lynch gave Laura a sour look, while in the bedroom Remington shot up in the bed, panic clutching at him immediately. He tamped down the response, and pushing himself from the bed, wrapped himself in his robe emerging in the living room before Lynch had a chance to respond to Laura's query.

"As we informed you, a surprise visit can occur at any time, night or day," Lynch responded tightly. "Now, are you going to allow me entrance?"

Remington approached the two ladies, easily sliding his hand around Laura's waist, then turned on his charm – quite a task given his physical state and mussed appearance. "Miss Lynch, what an absolute delight! Come in, come in. What can my wife and I do for you on this fine morning?" While he appeared utterly relaxed, Laura felt the tremor in his hand at her waist and brushed her fingers over the back of it, assuring him it would be okay.

"Mr. Steele," Lynch gave him a curt nod. "I'm here for an inspection of the domicile as well as your next interview." She shoved her way past the couple and walked into the living room to perch primly on the edge of a chair. Laura and Remington turned to look at each other, he seeing the worry in her eyes, she the barely controlled panic in his.

"Rem, it'll be okay. We've prepared for this, remember?" She said in an undertone that Lynch couldn't hear, while brushing her fingers across his cheek. His hand reached up and gripped her hand hard. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then letting it out, opened back up his eyes and gave her a nod. Swinging the door closed, the couple joined Lynch in the living room, who was extracting a file from her briefcase. They sat next to one another on the couch, only for him to bound back up again.

"Can I get you some coffee or perhaps tea, Miss Lynch?" he offered.

Giving him a sour look and scrunch of her nose, she nodded curtly. "Coffee will do. Black." He glanced at Laura, dressed only in a robe, clearly uncomfortable in the knowledge that she wore nothing beneath based on her continual adjustment of the garment.

"I'll put the coffee on to brew, then. It should be ready by the time Mrs. Steele and I have a chance to put on something more appropriate for the occasion. Please, make yourself at home in the meantime," he offered.

"I'll be doing precisely that," she assured him sourly.

Remington cast a glance at Laura, a sway of his head and slight roll of his eyes telling her that Lynch was bound and determined to be anything but pleasant. Her long blink in return and a nod that would be unnoticed by anyone but him indicated her agreement with his assessment. She rose from the couch to walk to their room to change into clothing that wouldn't leave her feeling as… vulnerable... under the watchful eyes of Lynch. He moved to the kitchen quickly, flicking on the coffee maker already set up the night before, then crossed the living room to join Laura in the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He leaned his back against the door, letting out a deep sigh of frustration, while running a hand swiftly through his hair. His sigh changed to one of relief when Laura crossed the bedroom to wrap her arms around him and press her head against his chest. He drew her close, inhaling her scent, then with a shudder relaxed against her.

"Okay?" she asked. With a nod he bussed her on the top of her head, then released her. They both moved swiftly about the room, shedding their robes and pulling on clothes while they spoke.

"Where's the file?" he asked. The side of her lips quirked and she shook her head.

"The same place I've told you it is a half of dozen times now. The drawer in the entryway table."

"The tape?" After Roselli cornered Laura and manhandled her in a casino in Cannes, Reminton had managed to secure a copy of the security tape showing the altercation in case they would need it later on down the line.

"In the safe," she called from the bathroom where she was viciously yanking up her hair into a ponytail. She rolled her eyes at her bangs, which were finally growing in, but were no more cooperative in the mornings than their shorter predecessors. After several turns at them with a brush, she tossed it down on the counter in frustration.

"Well, we can't bloody well open the safe in front of Lynch," he noted, exchanging places with her in the bathroom, to take a few quick swipes at his hair with a comb.

"No," she agreed, as he emerged from the bathroom. "If it comes to that, we'll just have to inform her we'll send it over by courier." Stepping to him, she ran her hands over the shoulders and sleeves of his cotton button down, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles. "Are you ready?" He gave her a curt nod.

"Let's get this over with, shall we?" He asked, opening the door for her, and following her from the room.

They found Lynch back in the entryway, looking at the picture of them, under the arch as they exchanged their vows in Greece. The picture was framed in the lovely crystal frame given to them by Veronica Kirk as a wedding gift. Her predecessor on the Steele investigation had taken copious notes at their wedding, so Lynch was well aware the couple had married on a tuna boat – he, spotless in a tux, she in a business suit, covered in mud from head-to-toe. _Staged_ , she noted to herself in regards to the picture she set back down with an upturn of her nose. _As fake as this marriage, and I intend to prove it._

Laura approached her. "You're welcome to check the bedroom and bathroom if you like," she offered. Lynch offered her another pinched look of disapproval.

"Just out of curiosity, Miss Holt, why it is that the apartment seems fairly devoid of any of your own personal belongings?" A wrinkle appeared between Laura's brow at the question.

"Mrs. Steele," she corrected mildly, as she followed Lynch towards their bedroom. "As you'll see, I have the majority of my personal belongings here… at least those I use day-to-day. Remington and my winter clothes are stored at my loft, to give us the room we need here."

"So, you continue to maintain your former residence, despite your… marriage," Lynch noted, her voice tainted with disdain.

"Actually," Remington cut in, having just arrived in the bedroom after dropping of two cups of coffee on the table in the living room, "Laura and I agreed during our honeymoon that neither residence truly suited our needs." He leaned casually against the door frame while taking a sip of his own coffee. With a slight lift of his brow towards her, Laura picked up where he left off.

"We've been looking at houses since arriving back home," she filled in, while walking to him and standing next to his side. "Unfortunately, we haven't found anything yet that fits our needs. But we're confident it's out there."

"And, when we do find it," he continued where she left off, "We've no intent on selling either the condo or the loft. We'll be holding on to them, the condo as an investment property, the loft as a place for friends and family to stay while in town." Laura looked up at him, her face carefully blanked but her eyes reflecting her surprise. He pursed his lips in a kiss to her, while giving her waist a little squeeze that clearly said, _We'll discuss it later._ Lynch, of course, latched onto the last part of what he'd said.

"So your brother and sister will be visiting frequently then?" she asked, not even bothering to hide the sneer that accompanied her words as she closed their closet doors and moved on to the bathroom. Laura felt Remington tense under her hand. She brushed her hand against his side, until she felt him begin to relax again.

"Why don't we just call a spade a spade, Miss Lynch," Laura suggested. "You're well aware that Anthony Roselli is no more my brother than Mikhail Gorbachev is, and that Shannon Wayne is no more Remington's sister than Whoopi Goldberg." Remington frowned down at her.

"Whoopi Goldberg? Really, Laura, certainly you can come up with a better comparison," he chided.

"What can I say? I had nothing. I'm sure Miss Lynch understands the point," she grinned.

"Indeed I do," Lynch confirmed. "So you admit, then, that each of you have a relationship with your… siblings… that would clearly call into question the validity of this marriage." She sidled past them into the living room, retrieving her file and picking up her pen.

"We concede nothing of the sort," Remington countered, sitting down in the corner of the couch, then waiting for Laura to join him. She laced her fingers through the top of his, her thumb caressing his wedding band. She felt the soft puff of air he released at the gesture. "What we will admit to is that Shannon Wayne was a client and Antony Roselli had recruited us to aid him in a… business matter." Next to him Laura nodded.

"We have police reports from London that confirm we resolved Shannon Wayne's case, and police reports, reports from MI5 and newspaper clippings that will confirm our assistance to Roselli," Laura continued. Lynch laughed a sarcastic little laugh.

"Certainly you don't expect me to believe finding Ms. Wayne, in her lingerie, in your husband's bed was part of a case, now do you?"

"Of course not," Laura answered calmly, even as Remington's fingers clenched hers a little more tightly. She brushed her finger over the back of his ring again, trying to relax him. "Ms. Wayne developed an infatuation with my husband that was both unwelcome and unencouraged during the course of the case. So much so, in fact, that not only did she show up here uninvited and unannounced, but I believe she also provided false information to the INS in hopes of eliminating the competition, so to speak." He gave an approving squeeze of her hand, and lifted his cup of coffee for a drink. Lynch consulted her file.

"So you're denying, then, that your husband and Ms. Wayne have a long standing relationship and in fact share two children, Derrick and Bettina." Next to Laura, Remington choked on his coffee, while staring at Lynch aghast, then turning to look at his wife, pleading with his eyes that she not believe the worst. Laura simply removed her hand from his and patted him distractedly on the back.

"If you knew my husband at all, then you would know that he could no more abandon a child of his than he could abandon me, Miss Lynch," she answered calmly.

"So then you are denying…" Remington, coughing having subsided, interrupted her.

"I can assure you that this is an absolute fabrication on Ms. Wayne's part. Can you supply birth certificates for these alleged children of mine, or any other form of documentation to substantiate their existence?" he queried.

"Well, no," Lynch admitted resentfully. She seized on another opportunity. "And your 'brother', Mrs. Steele. I saw that one with my own eyes, let me remind you." Laura gave a careless shrug.

"He'd made contact with my husband and I in Mexico, requesting our assistance in a little matter for the MI5. Given he requested our help in large part due to our reputation for discretion as well as our ongoing cooperation with various governmental and law enforcement agencies, we couldn't very well let his involvement with us be recorded in the records of the INS. The kiss was nothing more than a way of ushering him out of here as quickly as possible."

"Of course, we were unaware of his ties to the INS, otherwise such a ruse would have been unnecessary," Remington chimed in. "Again, official records as well as new reports can confirm the nature of our relationship with Roselli." Lynch frowned her disbelief.

"It seems the two of you have a convenient answer for everything," she noted. This time it was Remington who shrugged.

"Perhaps that's because we've nothing to hide," he pointed out mildly. Lynch slapped the folder in her lap closed with agitation.

"An inspection of your marriage license and blood test results have brought into question the validity of your marriage," she smiled smugly. "It would seem the doctor who issued the reports on your blood tests retired to Florida years ago and that there is no record of your marriage license having been filed with the courthouse as stated. If those records are invalid or cannot be located, the INS can and will deem that a marriage never took place, and as such you will not have met the requirements to stay in country, Mr. Steele." Laura stood as Lynch spoke and retrieved their own file from the entryway table drawer, seating herself again by the time Lynch had completed her soliloquy.

"Even if those records were invalid, which I assure you they're not," Laura commented, while fishing through the file for a copy of their marriage license, then handing it to the woman, "Our second marriage in Greece is certainly more than legitimate as you can see." Lynch scanned the document doubtfully, noting the date of marriage to be June 25th, 1986 and wondering if she could use the date against them if nothing else.

"If, and I do stress if, your first marriage was legitimate, why would you feel the need for a second if not to cover your tracks?" Remington reached for Laura's hand this time, twining his fingers with hers.

"We deserved a wedding whose timeline was not dictated by the demands of the INS. Further, it was important to both of us to have family in attendance and our union blessed by the Church, which as you can see," he nodded to several pieces of paper Laura now handed her, "is the case with our ceremony in Greece." Laura picked up where he left off.

"We've given you copies of our Baptismal, communion and confirmation certificates proving we were both raised in the Church. Additionally, a statement from Father Ioseph Androkus, confirming the Rite of Marriage and a list of the guests that were in attendance." Lynch shuffled through the papers, glancing at each of them. At Remington's nod, Laura handed her the next three sheets of paper.

"A photocopy of my driver's license and passport, showing my name is now legally Laura Steele and a copy of the printout from Social Security requesting my information with them be changed to reflect my married name, as well," Laura explained. Lynch scrunched her nose again.

"While all of this is well and good, might I point out none of this validates a relationship prior to the marriage or lends itself as proof that this is anything other than a marriage contrived to keep Mr. Steele in the United States," Lynch noted priggishly. Remington leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees, keeping Laura's hand bound in his.

"I'm afraid I'd have to disagree, Miss Lynch. If you were familiar with the workings of the Church, you'd be well aware one simply does not walk away from a marriage that's been consecrated. There's the little matter of Annulment, which I assure you is not as easily achieved as a divorce," he pointed out.

"But still doable," she countered. "And again, the complexities of ending this union are not the concern of the INS, it is the legitimacy of it." Laura nodded and pulled yet another sheet of paper out of their file, handing it to the woman.

"Then perhaps this will help. A list of family members, friends, business associates and former clients that can confirm our personal relationship that has spanned more than four years." Lynch glanced at the papers nearly dismissively.

"The INS is well aware of your partnership, Miss Holt." Remington shook his head at her words.

"Mrs. Steele," he corrected before continuing. "I believe my wife clearly stated personal involvement, Miss Lynch. Laura and I had been seeing one another exclusively for nearly four years at the time of our marriage," he reiterated.

"Then how do you explain your initial attempt to wed…" Lynch referred to her notes, "…Clarissa Kelly?" Laura snorted softly next to him. Remington let go of her hand only to reach for her other, this time stroking her rings before clasping her hand in his fingers.

"I'm afraid I don't have an explanation for that other than…" he shook his head, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right word, "… desperation, I suppose. Clarissa was fully aware that the marriage would be nothing more than one of convenience, that my commitment lay with Laura. She agreed, as a friend, to help me out."

"If you were willing to commit fraud with Miss Kelly, why should we believe that your marriage to Miss Holt is not more of the same?"

"Mrs. Steele," Laura automatically corrected again. Lynch looked at her dismissively and returned her attention to Remington who was taking a nervous swipe at his mouth.

"The only reason I asked Clarissa's assistance was I didn't want to propose to Laura under those circumstances… for her to believe the only reason I had was to stay in the country."

"It seems that your answer contradicts the facts, Mr. Steele. You did, in fact, ask Miss Holt to marry you to stay in the country," Lynch pointed out.

"Mrs. Steele," Laura corrected again, this time with a frown. "And he didn't ask me to marry him. I convinced him to marry me. We've spent four years working to get to this point, and I wasn't going to stand by and watch it taken from us because it wasn't the perfect time for him to propose."

"Again, I find it hard to believe that if this relationship you allege existed were factual, you wouldn't have simply dismissed his attempts to marry Miss Kelly, let alone then insist…"

"Miss Lynch," Laura interrupted her, her tone growing short, "I by no means 'simply dismissed his attempts to marry' Clarissa. I was angry… furious, actually… which even the minister performing that ceremony can attest to. I didn't simply overlook Remington's… I honestly still don't even have a good word for it… Lunacy?... I didn't forgive him for it easily, and he'll probably still be hearing about it on our golden anniversary…" she glanced at him when he hummed in solemn agreement "…but we couldn't very well find our way past it if he was in England and I was here."

"That statement, Miss Holt, seems to substantiate the INS's view, wouldn't you say? A marriage between the two of you was not being planned prior to our contacting Mr. Steele. Then by your own words you married him in order to keep him here while you…" Lynch made air brackets with her fingers "… 'found you way past' certain issues, which may or may not have been the case. And if you hadn't, then what? A quick dissolution of the marriage once Mr. Steele was granted legal residence?" Laura gave a sigh of frustration and glanced at Remington. Taking a slip of paper from the file, he handed it to Lynch.

"A statement and receipt from a bench jeweler that I commissioned to make my wife's engagement ring last December, long before INS announced their interest in me. Although I may not yet have proposed, I had every intention of doing so when the time was right," Remington noted. Lynch glanced at Laura's ring then back to the paper.

"A receipt for a piece of jewelry does not establish intent, Mr. Steele. I would even suggest that given the ring you specify is a ruby – hardly a traditional engagement ring – it was simply a piece of jewelry meant as a gift for someone somewhere down the line and not necessarily for Miss Holt. It could have been meant for another woman all together or for someone not yet even known to you that you hoped to impress…" Laura gave a hard shake of her head at the woman's audacity, and held up a hand.

"Miss Lynch, we've provided you with ample documentation supporting the legality of our marriage. We've allowed you to tour our home freely to prove our domesticity. We've provided you with a lengthy list of people that can attest to the legitimacy of our long term relationship and our marriage," Laura pointed out, her tolerance for the conversation running short. "Now, unless you have questions that have not already been addressed, my husband and I need to get ready for work." Laura released Remington's hand and stood, making it clear she was inviting Lynch to leave. Slapping her file closed, Lynch rammed it into her briefcase then stood.

"Your lack of cooperation, of course, will be noted in your file," Lynch stated with the edge of a threat.

"Feel free to do what you feel is necessary, as will we. I have every intention of seeing that you are replaced on my husband's case as you seem to have a personal issue with us and are determined to twist whatever we say to support your own beliefs. Now, if you don't mind…" Laura marched to the front door and held it open, while Remington stood looking at her semi-aghast, semi-amused while rubbing a hand across his mouth.

"You'll be hearing from me," Lynch ground out as she walked out the door.

"Not if I can help it," Laura replied, slamming the door behind the woman. A split second after the door slammed shut, she scrunched up her face in remorse, then tipped up her chin and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh God, what have I done," she muttered to no one in particular.

"I'd say you let that fine temper of yours get away with you, love." She glanced at him and scrunched up her face again. "I'll wager I've moved to the top of Lynch's list of people she most wants to deport." She dropped her fingers from her nose, then lifted both in a helpless gesture.

"There's nothing we can say or do to make that woman believe anything that she doesn't want to about us," she defended. He gave his ear a tug, even as he nodded. She began to pace.

"Laura, don't start castigating yourself over this. You didn't do anything that I wouldn't have liked to have done myself." She lifted her hands and dropped them again, before turning to face him.

"I think it's time we hire an attorney, Remington. Someone that knows immigration and naturalization laws and can help… minimize… their presence in our lives until this is resolved."

"That may be the wisest course," he agreed, sitting down on the arm of the couch, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "Especially given our… successes… to date in trying to deal with them ourselves." With a shake of her head she crossed the room to him.

"Are you up to making us breakfast while I shower and make some calls?" she asked while smoothing her fingers through his hair.

"Gladly," he answered, nodding agreeably. "Does anything in particular come to mind?"

"Surprise me," she answered, then leaned down to touch her lips to his. "It's going to be okay, Rem." He stood and pulled her into his arms for a hug, bussing the top of her head while nodding.

"Go," he told her, taking a step away. "Shower, then make those calls. I'll get breakfast on."

Laura went directly to the phone on the table in the bedroom. A quick, although inquisitive phone call to Mildred, had all their appointments shuffled to either Mildred or rescheduled until early the following week. They would have until their two o'clock appointment with William Covington to get some matters resolved before going into the office. She stripped down and headed to the bathroom to shower.

Her mind wandered, as it often did, when she stood under the hot spray. She gave a small laugh and a smile tugged at her lips. Before they'd begun living together full-time, she thought she knew all the many moods and nuances of Remington Steele. In the three months since, she'd found she was wrong.

Touch, she'd learned, was something he craved. She'd long ago realized that all those small glances against her during the day were born of a need to feel close to her. Yet, she'd never realized exactly how important physical contact was to him. After Daniel's death, she learned that her fingers threaded that his hair gave his immense comfort, that physical link between the two of them acting as a balm to his battered heart. In the months since, she'd learned that a brush of her fingers against his hand was as intimate to him as a touch of her lips against his; that when he was feeling off-balance, a hand lay against his back or chest, was as calming as a glass of wine; and a touch of her hand to a cheek was as powerful an emotional connection to him as those three little words that lit his eyes with joy when spoken.

Rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she worked conditioner through it.

Another remarkable discovery was the joy he found in taking care of her… not coddling her, but taking care. For years he'd heard her mantra, time and time again, that she could take care of herself. Overtime, a quick glance of concern towards her was all he'd allow himself, and at times, out of utter vexation that anything more than that would draw her irritation, a snarky remark – "Don't dawdle, Laura," came to mind. Yet, when she would allow him the slightest opening, he would quickly step in to try to make her comfortable: a foot rub for feet left aching after a day of running in heels, a massage to soothe away a headache, a warm meal to offer comfort. Since they'd begun living together full time, she'd been unable to hide the painful cramping that arrived monthly. There were no excuses for why she couldn't see him that day so she could instead curl up with a heating pad and a healthy dose of medication. He'd been quietly thrilled when she'd allowed him, without fuss, to soothe her aches away with his dexterous hands and gentle touch, and was utterly content to spend an evening with her curled into his body as they watched those videotapes he'd bought her despite his lack of appreciation of them. She'd needed comfort and in allowing him to give it, they'd only drawn closer.

Conditioner rinsed from hair, she stepped from the shower and after a quick pat down wrapped the towel around her hair, before pulling on a fresh pair of panties and wandering into the bedroom in search of a pair of shorts and a shirt that would suffice until she knew what the day ahead would bring.

As surprising it was to realize how important it was to him to offer her little comforts, it had been maybe even more stunning to realize he became completely defenseless when it was she that offered the same to him. She'd made the discovery quite by accident while they were in London, as he'd grieved the loss of Daniel and her constant touches as they bathed had drawn him out, helped him speak about Daniel. A few times since they'd arrived home, the loss of Daniel had overwhelmed him, seemingly out of the blue, and she'd made it a point to set aside all else to focus solely on him. Each time the results had been the same: him pouring his heart out to her, allowing her touch, her presence to heal him then later making love to her with a poignant tenderness that left her feeling as though her body was a canvas that he'd painted with his love for her.

The realization was accompanied by no little guilt as she remembered how many times she'd treated him roughly when he'd been injured, in a manner that suggested she was annoyed with him for having the audacity to have sustained a blow to the head, a broken rib or leg. Only a week or so after that revelation, they'd been in pursuit of a suspect where punches had been thrown after the suspect was cornered. She took particular care in treating him with the gentleness that he showed her and his nearly imperceptible sigh and the look of gratitude in his eyes, made her heart thump a little harder in her chest. They grew closer still.

Dressed, she returned to the bathroom and picked up her blow dryer, determined to do something with the bangs that plagued her.

The first week that they returned to the Agency after arriving home from Europe, she'd waited for the proverbial shoe to fall, utterly convinced that now that they'd 'crossed that line,' Remington would cast aside the boundaries they'd worked hard to create between their personal and professional lives. By that Friday afternoon, she was thoroughly on edge. All week he'd been nothing but the consummate professional: no lewd glances – although certainly appreciative ones followed her graceful form when they were alone; no suggestions about locking the door and christening a desk or couch; and, much to her irritation, not a single kiss stolen during business hours. The fact that he worn suspenders that day had not helped, as her mind had often wandered into thoughts of grabbing those same suspenders and dragging him into the bathroom to take advantage of him. _Face it, Holt. That man in a pair of suspenders is enough to make any woman quake in the knees,_ she laughed to herself now. By the time Mildred had left the office that afternoon, she'd done nearly precisely that. Locking the front door, she walked in his office, then had watched as he raised a single brow at her, as she approached like a tiger stalking its prey. When she gave those suspenders a firm pull, he'd risen from his chair and seeing the look in her eyes, lost no time in lowering his head to hers to plunder her mouth. They never made it to that bathroom, finding his desk particularly welcoming. After, as they both lay panting, she made it a point to remind him that one of the things she most enjoyed about working with him was never knowing when he'd try to turn on the charm and innuendo in order to entice. From that point forward he stopped quashing the normal ebb and flow of their personal relationship, finding the perfect balance of stolen kisses and moments while adhering to professional demands.

She bit her lip as she remembered a few of those moments while she worked her brush through her hair. Only short moments later that fond smile turned into a contemplative frown.

They had run headlong into a problem she hadn't seen coming, neither of them had. Three weeks after returning home they'd been hired to provide surveillance of a jewelry store after the owner had been tipped off by a local ne'er-do-well – for a bit of cash compensation, of course – that the store was the planned target for a break-in within the next two days. Offered substantial compensation for their time, they'd camped out in the Rabbit at night, worked their other cases during the day, and caught catnaps in between. On the second night, they'd allowed the would be robbers entrance to the store where their escapades would be caught on tape before cornering them in the store. When one lowered his shoulder and plowed into Laura, lifting her off her feet and slamming her hard into the wall behind her with a resounding thud, Remington could only watch as she slid down the wall to the floor beneath with a moan. He'd nearly allowed the perpetrators get away as he stopped in his tracks to kneel down to run his hands over her ribs and head checking for injuries. It was only when she'd shoved herself up and followed in hot pursuit, that he had given chase.

She'd steeped and she'd stewed while the police interviewed them and all the way home. He'd given her a couple of tentative glances, before firming his jaw and preparing for battle. He fully expected her to lay into him the moment they got home; what he hadn't expected was for her to move swiftly through the apartment to the bedroom, slamming the bedroom door behind her. Mouth tightening, he strode to the bedroom door, and opening it followed in behind her. She whirled on him as soon as he entered the room.

"Would you mind telling me what that was about back there?" she demanded, her voice hard and unyielding, her hands planted firmly on her hips.

"The two of us neatly wrapping up a case, suspects caught with their hand in the pot, us well-rewarded for our time and effort…" he evaded, knowing full well to what she was referring.

"You know what I mean, Remington! You nearly let them get away!"

"They didn't…"

"That's not the point!" she retorted, tossing her hands in the air. "You stopped! As soon as hit I that wall, you stopped! That's not what we do! We ask, we pull each other up, we keep going. What we don't do is stop and let the suspects get away!" She watched as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, refusing to yield, enflaming her temper even further. "How many times do I have to tell you? _I can take care of myself_. It was my job to pick myself up off of that floor. It was _your_ job not to let them get away. Damn it, I needed my partner out there Mr. Steele! Not… not…." She watched as his eyes turned ice blue with fury as she struggled for the word.

"Your husband," he told her coolly, in the clipped, cool tones of a proper British gentleman that he resorted to only when most angry or most upset. "Forgive me, Miss Holt, I shan't make the mistake of forgetting again which of my roles in your life is clearly the most important to you." With a nearly imperceptible bow at his waist, he moved swiftly to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. She closed her eyes when she heard the click of the lock engaging.

They'd retreated to their separate quarters – he to the shower, she to the terrace – both dealing with their own reactions to what had happened and what had been said. When he hadn't emerged from the bedroom forty-five minutes later, she went in search, finding him sitting on the edge of the bed, hair damp, wearing only pajama pants, his robe laying on the bed next to him. He held his forehead in his hands, arms propped on his knees, contemplating the carpet. When she sat down next to him on the bed, her heart lurched in her chest when he turned tortured blue eyes to her. Reaching up a hand, she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Rem…" Soft, amber eyes reflected her apology. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, before speaking.

"He was two and half times your size, Laura. When you hit that wall and didn't bound back up as you normally would…" his voice trailed off on a shudder, another swipe of a hand across his mouth. "It had nothing to do with thinking you couldn't take care for yourself and everything to do with believing you'd been seriously injured. You hit that wall and slid down it then were just still…"

"He knocked the wind out of me, that's all," she told him calmly.

"How was I supposed to know that? It all happened so fast, I couldn't even warn you and then you were down, unmoving." Pushing himself from the bed, he stood to pace while raking a hand through his hair. "Damn it, Laura, you've no idea what went through my mind." He swiped at his face. "Have you any idea how few people I've allowed myself to truly care for? And you? You're at the top of that bloody list!" Frustration peppered his words. "I can't lose you… especially so soon after Daniel. I need you to be safe, and if that means checking on you after you've taken a blow like today…" He shook his head while pressing a hand to his face and looking away from her.

Laura had watched him closely as he spoke, noting the tension around his eyes, the way his shoulders rolled forward, the slight tremor of his hands that no one but she would have noticed. Standing, she crossed the room to stand in front of him.

"Then maybe we need to agree on a way that either of us can determine how the other is after something like today." When he shifted his eyes towards her, she continued. "Something simple. A single word maybe? 'Okay.' When asked, if all is fine, we answer 'okay' and if we're not, we don't answer at all. I could have mustered up a single word today after hitting that wall, if I knew it would keep you from worrying something far worse had happened." He considered her suggestion, then gave a short, sardonic laugh.

"As though you'd admit to such a thing, stubborn as you are." Laura scrunched her face at his reply, but couldn't deny he was probably right.

"Then we agree, here and now, we have to answer truthfully."

"And if one of us does not reply?" he challenged, as his tension eased.

Laura stepped into him, to thread her fingers through the hair on either side of his head.

"Then we stop, whether it means a suspect gets away or not," she answered matter-of-fact.

Thus, they had established a system for quickly evaluating one another's status after a nasty run in. Already it had been put to the test once and had worked well. But that occurrence had led Laura to another new discovery about her new husband: he was as invested in the life that they were forging together as she was.

On the rare occasion Remington would say those three words she'd craved for years. He'd not been exaggerating when he'd told her the words did not come easily. Yet, she'd learned that when he was feeling especially… vulnerable… they would come of their own volition, as though held hostage and welcomed release. No matter what, though, she found, he could express the emotion freely in two manners: in kind – 'I hope nearly as much as I, you,' or some variation thereof – and in his native tongue during the most tender of moments when they made love – 'is tu mo ghra,' simply one of his frequently uttered vows. Months after their marriage, however, she found she had no need for the words as he showed her in action every day exactly how deeply he loved her.

 _No one is taking this from us,_ she vowed. If their time apart when he'd fled to London had been miserable, and it had, for either of them to lose the other now would be nothing short of devastating. Thumbing through the phone directory as she sat on the side of the bed, she found what she was looking for and stabbed a finger decisively at a name. Picking up the phone, she dialed the number and within five minutes, and a drop of her husband's name, she had an appointment secured for eleven that morning.

Standing and with a thoughtful nip at a lip, she went to join Remington in the kitchen.

(TBC)


	3. Chapter 1: Discoveries & Intrusions pt 2

Chapter 1 – Discoveries and Intrusions (Cont)

Laura had surreptitiously watched Remington on the ride to the offices of Grant, Jacoby, Meyerson, Barcliff, et al. He'd kept up a steady stream of conversation, most of it revolving around suggestions for the upcoming weekend. Saturday morning, they had already committed to a doubles match with Monroe and Jocelyn at White Oak Country Club with lunch to follow after, but the rest of the weekend, absent an appointment Sunday early afternoon with the realtor to see two houses and a penthouse, remained free to do as they wished. She saw not a glimmer of concern about their upcoming appointment with Joshua Meyerson. It wasn't until they stepped onto the elevator that he was unable to keep up with the façade, reaching out and threading the fingers of a clammy hand with hers. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze of assurance, releasing his hand only when the door to the elevator opened on the 18th floor. Handing her out of the elevator, he followed her lead, keeping a hand on the small of her back.

After confirming their arrival with the receptionist in the well-appointed lobby, Laura took a seat in the wing chair next to that in which Remington sat. Now, she could feel the nervous energy over which he was keeping tight rein. Laying her hand on top of his, she brushed a thumb over his ring, and felt his nearly undetectable exhale as he relaxed somewhat at the physical contact. Still when the receptionist stood and indicated they should follow her, she felt the slight tremor in the hand at her back.

Her heart ached a little as she watched him slip into the persona of the devil may care Michael O'Leary. In contrast to that of his Paul Fabrini character, where Fabrini was stiff and unyielding, O'Leary was relaxed and adaptable; whereas Fabrini spoke with a hard, clipped British accent, O'Leary's was equally British but flowed with a lazy fluidity; whereas Fabrini's manners were staunch, nearly courtly, O'Leary's were ever present but warm and welcoming. This was the personality Remington turned to when, despite feeling otherwise, he needed to charm, appear relaxed, even carefree. With a gentle touch to his arm, she told him she'd seen and understood.

It was this ability of his to slip from persona-to-persona that was a large part of her inability to truly trust him in their early years. The change in behavior, attitude, affects, how he interacted even with her came across as just another ruse. It had taken her a long time to recognize the different characters and when they would appear. It was, in fact, the small glimpses of the true Remington that continually lured her back, made it impossible to move on. She'd seen it the first time in the morgue when he'd identified Wallace's body; the next time in his reaction to their first kiss on the dock as Arnok approached. Gradually, as he drew closer to her, he allowed his true self to appear more often: during the Peppler case as he'd laid drunk on her lap; during the Kirk case when he'd fumbled a sincere apology; in the shredding bin after she'd fallen from the beam at the Federal Reserve; in their hotel room in Acapulco; and, most certainly, that evening in his living room after her house had been leveled and when he believed her dead after Carl had shot her. She had paid more attention to the fine details and was eventually able to sort one persona from the other and what triggered the arrival of each.

After she'd gone to find him in London two summers before, the mere fact that she had cared enough to do just that had seen the disappearance of the various persona's when they were alone together and a significant decrease in their appearance elsewhere in his life. Feeling secure and wanted, for perhaps the first time in his life, he'd relaxed enough to let them go. The nearly frenetic energy he'd carried with him the entire time she'd known him suddenly calmed. His gestures were less pronounced, taking on a casual, natural air. His often rigid posture remained impeccable, but far less austere. Even the cadence and tone of his voice had moderated, taking on a mild, easy air. And, in terms of their personal relationship, he didn't move from the courtly Fabrini to the seductive O'Leary to the distant Blaine with Remington stuffed somewhere in between, instead letting his wants and desires to be known honestly, while maintaining the patience and softness that was such a natural part of himself.

"Joshua Meyerson," the handsome, blonde attorney in his mid-30's introduced himself to Remington and Laura with an extended hand after the receptionist answered them. Remington reached his hand over the desk to shake Meyerson's, his grip confident and relaxed

"Steele, Remington Steele and my wife, Laura Steele." He knew perfectly well there was no need to repeat the surname, but he still got a small thrill each time he referred to her in such a manner. There were times he wondered if he would ever, in fact, get used to it.

"Mrs. Steele," Meyerson acknowledged, extending his hand to her as well. Once all three were settled in their seats, Meyerson got right down to business. "So, Mr. Steele, it's my understanding you have an immigration matter that you require assistance on."

Laura handed their file over to Meyerson as Remington nodded. "Those are all of our originals," he specified. "We'd appreciate it if you made a copy of whatever you require before we leave."

"Of course," Meyerson noted distractedly, already examining the documents. He held silent as he skimmed through everything in the file. Laura and Remington exchanged nervous glances. After several minutes that seemed more like hours, Meyerson addressed Remington again. "Mr. Steele, now that I've seen your documents, I have a few questions for you, beginning with how long you've held a domicile in the United States." Glances were exchanged between Laura and Remington again.

"I'm sorry," Laura answered in her husband's stead, "Why would that matter? Does it put his status at ever further risk in some way?"

"To the contrary" Meyerson replied. "Last year a bill by the name of Simpson-Mazzoli was introduced into the Senate that proposed several changes to current immigration law. One of the stipulations of this bill is that any illegal immigrants that have established a domicile in the United States prior to January 1, 1982 will be granted automatic citizenship with a few minor conditions."

"What conditions?" she asked, ignoring the confused glance her husband sent her way.

"Payment of any back taxes owed, fines that will require payment, and a criminal record check confirming an applicant not been found guilty of any crimes on U.S. soil during that time."

Laura's slid a hand over to grasp Remington's, interlocking their fingers and giving it a slight squeeze. An answering squeeze by him conveyed that he would follow her lead.

"Remington was audited by the IRS in 1983 for the period of 1979-1982. Given he's already paid the penalties associated with the findings and has since provided impeccable returns, I assume that portion of the requirements will be met."

"Excellent," Meyerson answered enthusiastically. "Those same records will allow us to prove he's been living and working here since well prior to the established date. Now, as I said, this bill was passed by the Senate last year, and still requires approval by the House of Representatives. But we're hearing through the grapevine that it looks to pass the House with ease early next month. If it does, then in a few short months we should be able to have this matter laid entirely to rest." He rustled through the file again. "Until then, we'll have to continue dealing with the INS on the basis that your marriage meets their criteria for citizenship. Mrs. Steele, I believe you spoke with my paralegal, Ms. Wamai this morning?"

"I did," Laura acknowledged.

"Ms. Wamai has informed me, based on the conversation you had with her, that the INS is questioning the validity of the marriage. Is that correct?"

"It is," Remington confirmed, entering the conversation for the first time. Meyerson motioned to the file in front of him.

"Your records appear impeccable. Do they have reason to question the validity of the marriage?" Meyerson queried. Remington gave a nod of his head then gave a brief summary of his attempts to wed Clarissa, followed by a recitation of the story he and Laura had contrived to explain the events during Lynch's first visit. Meyerson nodded thoughtfully while toying with a pen. Sitting it down on the desk he leaned forward to focus an intense gaze on both them. "When the matter with the INS is resolved, will a speedy divorce be in the offing?"

The couple frowned at the attorney as they shook their heads in unison.

"We may have wed hastily because of the INS, Mr. Meyerson," Remington told him, as his thumb brushed over Laura's rings. "But, make no mistake about it, this marriage has nothing to do with the INS and everything to do with Laura and I."

"I thought I had made myself clear with Ms. Wamai," Laura added. "My main purpose for seeking council is to resolve this matter for Remington while minimizing INS's interference in our lives so that we can enjoy being newlyweds."

"Good to know," Meyerson nodded approvingly. "Alright, then given the information at hand, here is what I intend to do should you decide to retain my services. First and foremost, I'll reach out to one of my contacts at the INS, urging them to consider the documentation provided while also requesting a new investigator be assigned to the case. Interviews of the people you provided as witnesses able to attest to the ongoing relationship should take several weeks. Hopefully, before those are even completed the Simpson-Mazzoli bill will be confirmed by the House. If it is, then we will immediately file for relief based on Mr. Steele's ongoing residency in which case I would venture to say his involvement with the INS ends before the new year."

Remington's hand clenched Laura's tight. She brushed her thumb against the side of his in silent understanding. She looked at him with a question on her face and he nodded in response.

"If you'll have whatever paperwork couriered over to our office, we'll get everything signed and returned to you today along with your fees," Laura told Meyerson while rising to her feet and holding out her hand, Remington following suit. Remington clapped a hand over Meyerson's when they shook.

"Thank you," he told Meyerson sincerely. "You've no idea the havoc INS's arrival has wrought in our lives since their arrival."

"I have a good idea," Meyerson replied. "High profile individuals seem to often undergo much deeper scrutiny than others, especially when overzealous investigators are involved. I promise you, Mr. Steele, I'll do my best to restore harmony to your life."

"Again, my wife and I thank you," Remington reiterated, before withdrawing his hand to palm Laura's back before following her from the office.

Twenty minutes later, copies of their original documents made and returned to them, they entered the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Laura turned to him, a smile of pure joy lighting her face. Remington, the persona of Michael O'Leary now gone, was completely stunned, his disbelief overwhelming him, leaned his backside heavily against the elevator wall, and opened his arms to her. She wrapped herself into his embrace, laying the side of her face against his chest.

"Is it really over?" he pondered aloud. She tipped up her head to look at him. Seeing the strain of disbelief around his eyes, she ran her hands up over his chest to toy with the hair at the back of his neck.

"I think it is," she grinned. He gave his head a shake before burrowing his head in her neck, inhaling the honeysuckle scent he always associated with her while pulling her tight to him. She felt the quake of his body as the tension released.

It was this part of Remington that had made Laura the moth to his flame for years. Underneath all that polish, all the personas, all the devil-may-care attitude was a vulnerability that called out to her own. That little boy, shuffled from home-to-home, never knowing the truth of his parentage, who had lived on the streets since he was a child of ten, having experienced and seen more violence, more betrayal, the worst side of humanity over and over again. Yet somehow, he'd maintained his kind heart, and a deep abiding hope that somewhere out there he'd not be found wanting.

Holding him now, even as he tried to believe that yet another thing in his life was suddenly turning out right, she couldn't help but recall the words he'd said to her when DesCoines had appeared for a second time.

" _ **Entitled to nothing, not even parents. Finding myself pleasantly surprised when something goes right, or somebody pats me on the back instead of kicking me in the teeth."**_

She stroked her fingers through the side of his hair and leaned back to look at him. He lifted his head, to look down at her. Skimming a hand up her back to press against the back of her neck, he drew her to him and touched his lips to hers.

"Okay?" she asked.

"Okay," he answered with a curt nod, straightening his tie as she pretended to smooth non-existent wrinkles from the sleeves of his suit coat. When she turned to stand next to him, he couldn't help but give her waist a small squeeze before the doors opened and they exited into the lobby.


	4. Chapter 2: Playing with Fire

Chapter 2 – Playing With Fire

Arriving at the office at 12:15, Laura and Remington were grilled – there was no other word for it – by Mildred about the INS visit that morning. Laura had received a proud 'Good for you, Mrs. Steele' when she'd related how she'd shown her the door. The news from Meyerson, however, send Mildred to her feet, skittering around her desk to give both of her kids joyous hugs. A flushed Remington and a smiling Laura went to their separate offices to attend to the paperwork left for them by Mildred and to return phone calls as demanded by the messages shoved into their hands by the same.

At promptly 12:59, Mildred buzzed Laura to let her know that William Covington had arrived for his one o'clock appointment. Directing Mildred to escort him into Remington's office in two minutes then to bring coffee for each of them to his office afterwards, she stood and straightened her skirt before going into Remington's office to alert him to Covington's arrival. He surprised her by holding up a finger to her as she entered.

"I appreciate that Meredith… Yes, yes, Sunday morning at 11 o'clock… It's much appreciated… Bye bye now." Remington hung up the phone then stood to walk across the room and brush his lips against her cheek.

"Should I ask what that was all about?" she inquired.

"Veronica Kirk gave me a lead on a house in Holmby Hills that is going to market in the next week or so. She and Maxie insist that it is perfect for us. Meredith's arranged a private showing for us Sunday morning if you're up to adding one more to the list, that is," he explained.

"Why not? After all, what's one more?" she agreed as she took his jacket off the back his chair and held it out to him. "William Covington's arrived."

"Ah, yes, our one o'clock. Locating some assets hidden during a divorce, isn't it?"

"Yes, from what Mildred could wheedle out of him," she confirmed. "Mr. Covington wasn't very forthcoming when he called for an appointment, wanting to withhold the details until we met face-to-face."

The door to Remington's office swung open and Mildred showed Covington into the room. Covington stood a little shy of six feet, with brown hair graying at the temples, and carried an air of old money about him. Remington immediately put on his most affable smile and held out a hand.

"Mr. Covington, Remington Steele," he shook the man's hand, then held out a hand towards Laura. "My partner, Laura Holt."

"Mr. Covington," she greeted him, shaking his hand as well.

"If you'd like to have a seat," Remington offered, indicating the chair in front of his desk, before taking his own seat behind it. Laura slid up to perch on the end of Remington's desk facing Covington. "So, how can the Remington Steele Agency be of assistance to you, Mr. Covington?"

"I don't have much time, so I'll get straight to the point. In two months my divorce will be complete. Two days after I filed for divorce, my soon to be ex-wife claimed our house was burglarized with the thieves departing with three pieces of jewelry that have been in my family for more than a hundred years." He handed Remington a stack of photos and paperwork. Remington perused the information before handing the material over to Laura. "As you can see, the jewelry is insured for just over two million, although I wouldn't hesitate to say they hold even greater meaning to my family. I have good reason to believe Astrid is concealing the pieces and if the information I have obtained is correct, she is currently trying to identify a buyer for the them."

"From whom did you acquire this information?" Laura inquired as she continued to examine the pictures in her hand.

"I have a friend that's an antique broker. He was contacted by an anonymous individual inquiring if he might be interested in obtaining three antique pieces. Given the description of the pieces, his interest was more than piqued as he's been after me for years to consider allowing him to find a buyer for them. At the time he was unaware of the alleged burglary, or we may have been able to handle this matter ourselves." Covington glanced at his watch, then continued. "As it stands, I need to locate the jewels before Astrid is able to find a buyer or my family may not recover them."

"It would seem to me, then, that it's simply a matter of getting the right buyer to cross paths with your wife," Laura commented, casting a contemplative glance towards Remington. "Tell me, Mr. Covington, where does your wife spend a lot of time? Any interests, hobbies?"

"When Astrid is not emptying the coffers at any number of shops along Rodeo Drive, she is most likely to be found at one of two places: The country club working on her backhand and tan, or at one of her various committee meetings working on her… social… connections. Other than tennis and shopping, I don't know that Astrid any other hobbies one could pinpoint, although her list of interests is easily summarized: Men of affluence, the quality of their bank accounts, and discovering a way to partake of both."

"I take it those… interests… may have contributed to the current state of your marriage?" Remington posed.

"They most certainly did. It took me a while to realize, despite the warnings of friends and family, that Astrid is constantly looking for her next… victim… and is not opposed to using her considerable… charms… to draw them in," Covington supplied, bitterness tracing his words.

"Moves fast, does she?" Laura asked, an idea glimmering in her eyes. Remington caught the look and sat up a bit straighter in his chair.

"Quite. If she sees something she wants, she doesn't hesitate to go after it," Covington confirmed.

"Well, Mr. Covington, since that is the case I think we could have this case wrapped up and the missing pieces back in your hands within a week's time," Laura told him with a confident smile.

"May I ask, Miss Holt, how you intend to accomplish that feat?" Covington asked, eyeing her with interest. Sliding off the desk, she rounded the desk to stand next to Remington's chair. Laying a hand on his shoulder, she turned her attention back to Covington.

"By making sure she crosses paths with both her interests and her desires: a wealthy man to pique her interest that also happens to have certain… connections… when it comes to finding buyers for unique pieces." Remington stilled under her hand before rising from his chair.

"Mr. Covington, if I might have a moment to… confer… with my partner," Remington excused them, as he palmed the small of Laura's back and urged her towards her office. "Miss Holt…"

"I'm rather pressed for time Mr. Steele…" Covington tried to interject.

"Just a moment, I assure you. We'll be right back," Remington told the man over his shoulder, closing Laura's office door behind them.

"What are you doing? Our client's a busy man, Mr. Steele," she demanded to know, turning to look at him, placing her hands on her hips.

"Laura, I thought some years ago we'd veered away from this particular, er… investigative tool as a matter of course," Remington reminded her. "I seem to recall we well learned our lessons between Dominick and Millicent."

"Things have changed," she answered with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"You're quite right. Things _have_ changed," he told her pointedly. "Seems to me we've all the more reason not to follow this particular path."

"Don't you think you're being a little… overly dramatic," she asked with a frown. "I'm not expecting you to seduce her, merely to use your charm, within reason, to persuade her into showing you the jewels."

"Laura…" he hedged, a warning tone in his voice. Assessing him, she abruptly changed tactics.

"Don't tell me, Mr. Steele," she drawled, while walking her fingers up his chest, "That now that you're a married man you're worried you've lost your touch."

"Don't be ridiculous," he responded, affronted. "But that's hardly the point."

"It's business. That's the point," she told him firmly, getting irritated. "By all means, if you have a better idea, I'm all ears." Shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels, he averted his eyes from her. "Then it appears its settled," she told him with a smile before opening the door and returning to his office. He tossed a frown at her back, before following behind and pasting the smile back on his face.

"As I was saying, Mr. Covington," Laura continued as though the conference between she and Remington had never taken place, "I'm fairly certain we can have this entire matter wrapped up for you within a week. Isn't that right, Mr. Steele?" she challenged, seeing that he was still none too happy with her plan.

"Yes, yes, of course, within the week," he answered, backing her up as she knew he would. She flashed him a smug little smile as he leaned against the desk, shoving his hands in his pockets again. "Tell me, Mr. Covington, when does your wife – Astrid, isn't it – normally indulge in her enjoyment of tennis?"

"Each Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday at 10 a.m. at White Oak Country Club. She is… fanatical… about not missing her matches," he supplied.

"Then we'll get started in the morning," Laura told him. Covington nodded, then stood to take his leave.

"I look forward to seeing the results you've promised," he told them both. After another round of handshakes he departed.

Mildred hustled into the office as soon as he left.

"A courier just dropped these by. I thought you'd want them immediately, Boss," she told Remington, handing him a manila envelope.

"Yes, quite right you are, Mildred." Taking the envelope from her he moved to sit down on the couch. At Laura's curious glance he gave her a nod. "Meyerson," he confirmed.

Laura crossed the room to sit next to him, tapping her foot anxiously as he opened the envelope and pulled out the paperwork as Mildred discretely left the room, closing the door behind her. Together, they went through the contract, Remington reading through a page then handing it to Laura for her perusal before moving on to the next.

"Seems rather straight forward," he commented as he handed her the last page. She nodded, as she skimmed its contents.

"I agree." She handed him her pen as she stood. "Go ahead and sign while I get the checkbook."

This was yet another change she'd had to get used to since returning home from their honeymoon. Two days after their return, Remington had dragged her off to the bank during lunch in order to change his personal checking account into a joint account. Three months later, she still wasn't used to seeing the six digits in front of the decimal point in a checking account with her name on it. She'd fully expected, once he'd revealed his shocking secret, that he'd suddenly begin spending lavishly. He'd confounded her again. While he enjoyed his fine clothing, dining and wine, he was perfectly content with their lifestyle and had no desire for any of it to change. Truth be told, he'd only spoken of two large expenditures: a house for them and vow that by the following summer they would own a sailboat to traverse the waters of the Pacific on the weekends.

After retrieving their checkbook from her purse, she returned to sit next to him. She watched as he wrote out the three thousand dollar check without so much as a blink of an eye. He slid the paperwork and check back in the envelope, then sat it on the table before leaning back on the couch and closing his eyes. At a glance, she knew he was still put out with her.

"Alright," she said with an exasperated sigh, "Let's talk about it." He opened an eye to look at her, then closed it again.

"Is there any point in doing so?" he queried. "I mean, is there anything that I can say that will change your mind?"

"Can you think of a better solution?" she persisted. He gave a shake of his head then stood up, gathering up the envelope from the coffee table.

"Where are you going?" she asked, as she watched him walk towards the door.

"To drop these round to the courier service. It would seem to me the sooner Meyerson gets underway the better," he explained.

"Remington, we need to talk about this," she urged.

"Seems to me that we already have." He gave a shake of his head. "We'll see this through your way, Laura." Walking back to her, he leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek. "I'll see you at home. I need to pop round to Kleinfeld's to check on the system installation then run by Monroe's to see how the stores are faring, cancel our tennis date for this weekend."

"Oh no," she lamented. "I forgot all about our plans with him and Jocelyn."

"I'm sure they'll understand. They're well aware of our business before personal policy, as am I." With those final words he left the office. Watching him depart, Laura lifted her hand to her left brow and began to rub.

"Damn it," she muttered softly, then leaned against the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

* * *

Laura frittered away the afternoon at Agency accomplishing… absolutely nothing, as her mind continued to wander back to her husband and his obvious annoyance with her over her decision on how they'd approach the Covington case. His attitude surrounding the plan completely perplexed her. A chance meeting, a few dinners, a modicum of romance, and he'd have Astrid Covington eating out of his hand. She knew better than most, after all, the power of his charm when he turned it on. Further, it was a compliment to him that not only did she trust him implicitly not to take things to far, but that she believed in his powers of persuasion so thoroughly.

Instead he seemed to be… insulted, almost. She shook her head several times that afternoon as she continued to return to that sticking point. She had no idea what had gotten into him and clearly he had no intention of sharing. _Stubborn man,_ she thought to herself, not for the first time that afternoon. Tossing her pencil down, she glanced at her watch. Four-thirty. Remington had left the office nearly two hours before and not once had he checked in. She considered the phone on her desk for the dozenth time in the last half hour. With a shake of her head, she picked up the receiver then dialed his car phone. Her call went unanswered. With a growl of frustration, she hung up then stood and grabbed her purse.

 _Home, change, run,_ she thought to herself.

* * *

Remington was more than a bit surprised when he arrived home and found Laura's purse laying on the entryway table. A quick look at his watch confirmed that it was only shortly after five. Since they'd returned from their honeymoon, she'd been no less dedicated than she was before, seldom leaving the office before five-thirty, more often six. Having taken the time to work things through in his head, he'd decided to come home and whip them up dinner. A little candlelight, a little wine, a bit of dancing and things should right themselves once more. In his frustration with her that afternoon, he'd nearly forgotten that they had cause for celebration: the removal of the INS's intrusion in their lives, very shortly.

"Laura," he called out. The apartment remained still and silent around him. With a lift of a brow, he recognized the very real possibility that his refusal to talk things through with her this afternoon may well have earned him the silent treatment. _Stubborn woman,_ he thought to himself, as he walked into their bedroom to see if she was in there. Instead, he found the suit she'd worn to work that day laying across the end of the bed and a quick check of the closet confirmed her running shoes were gone. _Off to run off her frustration with me, I see,_ he thought to himself.

He gave a deep sigh. He knew that he shouldn't have shut her out as he did that afternoon, but he'd honestly had no idea how to explain what he was feeling. Offended, certainly. Worried, most definitely. Yet to put those thoughts into words? He didn't even begin to know how. He was struggling with the why's, not that he didn't know what those were, for he did. More the 'why' of why this time it bothered him so deeply.

She'd given him an out. He'd ruminated on it as he'd check on the security install, on his way to Monroe's, on his way home. Nothing. He couldn't come up with a single idea outside of the one she'd devised. Since they had no idea where Astrid Covington had stashed the jewels, even a midnight foray was out of the question. He didn't like it, but it appeared her course of action was the most expedient one.

And now it appeared some serious effort would need to be made to make up his petulance towards her that afternoon. In the kitchen he turned on the oven then opened a bottle of Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon so that it could breathe. After sliding the brown sugar and mustard glazed salmon into the oven, he moved to the bathroom. Lighting several candles, he filled the tub with hot water and a generous portion of her favored bubble bath before returning to the kitchen to prepare them a salad to accompany the salmon. A few short minutes later, he heard the front door open and close and he went out to meet her.

"There's a bath waiting for you," he told her, brushing his lips against her cheek. "Dinner should be ready in thirty minutes, give or take."

"Sounds wonderful." She tilted her head slightly and considered him. "Are we okay?"

"Better than okay, I hope," he answered, taking her head in his hands and leaning down for a quick taste of her lips. "I believe we have cause for a small… private… celebration this evening, don't we?"

She stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at the back of his neck.

"Why don't you turn down the oven and join me?" she suggested. His gratitude that she was willing to let go, so easily, of his behavior that afternoon shone in his eyes. He leaned down to press his lips against her neck.

"I can think of little I'd enjoy more," he answered with a smile. "Go ahead, I'll join you shortly." He nudged her towards the bedroom. Remington watched as Laura strolled away, taking the time to enjoy the gentle sway of her hips and the way her jogging shorts hugged her magnificent bum. With a smile, he moved to the kitchen and made quick work of turning down the oven before pouring a glass of wine for each of them, then joined Laura in the bath.


	5. Chapter 3: Separate Pursuits

Chapter 3: Separate Pursuits

 _Saturday, September 27, 1986_

Remington groaned in protest when the alarm went off at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. The groan turned into a quiet moan when he rolled away from Laura's slim form in order to smack at the snooze button. Numerous muscles protested each movement, even as he rolled back to take Laura into his arms again. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, a smiling toying with the corners of his mouth. They had indulged in a marathon of love making the night before, something which they had not done since his birthday some weeks before, not that they didn't make love daily, often more than once. But last night in celebration of his approaching freedom from the threat of the INS and potential deportation, they had lost themselves in one another. He was loathe, now, to separate himself from her wanting nothing more to snuggle back into her warm little body and lose himself in sleep again.

When the alarm blared again, a mere seven minutes later, its call was met with a soft string of epitaphs as he expressed his displeasure at its intrusion. Next to him, Laura laughed quietly, before wriggling around to face him.

His brows drew together as he took in her amused smile.

"I can't say I'm fond of the fact that my wife derives such enjoyment from my obvious pain at being drug from a warm bed at the crack of dawn… on a Saturday, no less," he groused, drawing another laugh from her and a deeper scowl from him.

"Maybe this particular wife finds it amusing that the shoe's finally on someone else's foot for a change," she pointed out with mirth. "After all, a certain husband doesn't seem concerned when I pull myself out of bed 'at the crack' of dawn five days a week, even as he burrows back under the covers half of that time to 'catch a few more winks.'"

"Hardly a fair comparison," he complained. "You _enjoy_ getting up at the crack of dawn, whereas I _do not_."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd go so far as to say that," she disagreed, rolling over top of him and leaning down to kiss him. "If I recall correctly, there are times," she kissed him again, "you're absolutely eager," her lips trailed down his neck, as his arms wrapped around her, "to get up at the crack of dawn."

"With proper incentive, yes," he agreed, tightening his arms around her and rolling her to her back. His lips found hers again as a hand skimmed down her side. His hand froze as the alarm went off again. He swore another mild oath against her lips, even as he reached out blindly trying to turn off the offensive object. With a low growl, he rolled to his back to slap off the alarm, only to roll back over and find Laura across the room pulling on her robe and laughing at him. Burrowing his face in his pillow, he could only shake his head.

"Go take a shower, Rem, and I'll get a cup of tea ready for you," she told him. Lifting his head, he glowered at her, drawing another laugh from her as she left the room.

Grumbling to himself about absurd hours to wake on the weekend and about a demented wife who found too much pleasure in his obvious pain, he hauled his slim frame out of bed, to get his shower. By the time he emerged from the bedroom wearing athletic pants, a matching jacket and complimentary shirt, his mood had vastly improved. He flashed Laura a grateful look at the sight of his tea ready and waiting for him on the island. Picking up the cup, he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.

"There are times you are truly an angel of mercy, love," he commented, taking a sip of his tea. His wife might not be able to cook, but she could make a spot on cup of tea. In his opinion, that made up for utter lack of interest in other kitchen skills.

"Don't dawdle too long or you'll be late meeting Monroe," she reminded him.

"Mmmmm," he acknowledged with a hum. "What plans do you have in store for yourself today?"

"I'm going to shoot for 15 miles today," she answered. "The marathon might be in January, but unless I start pushing I'm not going to be ready in time. Would you be up a round of golf this afternoon after tennis this morning?"

"With you?" he asked with a lift of his brows, as he finished the last of his tea. "Absolutely. The Riviera Club or LACC?" She pondered the question for several seconds.

"LACC. We can meet for lunch at one, then get in a round after," she suggested, taking his cup from him and moving to the sink to clean it.

"One o'clock then, Mrs. Steele," he confirmed, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. "I'm off then, after I pack a bag. I'll shower and change at White Oak before meeting you at LACC." He turned to leave the kitchen when Laura called to him.

"Oh, and Mr. Steele?" He turned to look at her. "Be charming. Astrid Covington won't know what hit her. I speak from experience, of course," she smiled at him. She pretended not to notice that the light in his eyes dimmed slightly at her words. Giving her a nod, he left the room. A few minutes later she heard the front door shut behind him.

While washing her own cup, she pondered the day ahead and made a spontaneous decision. The weather outside was tepid for mid-September, and a run on the beach plus a quick swim after seemed the perfect way to start the day. If she left the beach by eleven, she could make it home, shower, change and still meet Remington at the LACC on time. With a smile and a nod of her head, she went to their bedroom to get changed.

* * *

Remington sat in the Auburn in the parking lot of White Oak Country Club. As he'd turned into the parking lot five minutes before, he'd caught a glimpse of his wedding band in his peripheral vision. Since he'd turned off the car some fifteen seconds later, he'd been contemplating the ring. He knew he had no choice, it would have to come off. There was absolutely no way that he could play the role of a wealthy bachelor with tangible proof he was anything but adorning his finger.

Twice now, he'd grasped the ring to remove it, only to release his grip. Since Laura had put it on his finger in Greece, he'd not taken it off. To do so now somehow made him feel like he was betraying her in some way. With an almost forlorn shake of his head, he gripped the ring and slid it from his finger, feeling bereft at the loss of its sleight weight on his ring finger. Opening the glove box, he dropped it in, then shut the door. Lifting a hand, he rubbed it across his lower face, resisting the temptation to put the ring back on, start the Auburn and head home. With concerted effort, he opened the car door and extracted his lean frame from the vehicle.

 _Business before pleasure, that's always been our motto,_ he reminded himself. Not surprisingly, he found the reminder of little comfort. He'd never particularly cared for this particular aspect of their lives in the first place.

Five minutes later, after spotting his quarry dining with a friend on the veranda, he lounged with an intentional air of careless elegance at a table, sipping a cup of coffee while waiting for Monroe to arrive. He feigned indifference as he took in surroundings, allowing his eyes to alight on Astrid Covington only to move away, then flick back towards her with apparent interest before moving on again. There was a time he would have found her stunning: Tall, blonde, well-endowed, a woman who took a great deal of care with her appearance. Her thick mane was slicked back in a ponytail, her tennis whites fit her to sheer perfection, and her deeply tanned skin bespoke of a woman who enjoyed relaxing outdoors.

A second sweep of his eyes along the veranda confirmed that he'd caught her attention. This time, when his eyes landed on her, he allowed them to linger, giving her an appreciative look up and down. Raising his eyes, he met her own, and raised a brow at her while saluting her with his coffee cup. Her answering smile waivered, only slightly with the arrival of Monroe, toting his tennis bag. Standing, he and Monroe exchanged brotherly pats on the back before taking their seats.

"So tell me, my friend, precisely whom is your mark during this little game of yours?" Monroe inquired without fanfare.

"Blonde at my two o'clock," Remington supplied. Monroe's eyes flicked over the woman while scanning the veranda presumably in search of their waitress. Catching the waitress's eye, he gave a nod towards Remington's tea, then returned his attention to matters at hand.

"A true feast on the eyes, my friend. I must say, I still find myself quite amazed that Laura is on board with this particular ploy given its delicate nature." Remington snorted softly.

"On board? Not quite the right term for it, mate. This folly is entirely of her own creation, I assure you." Monroe cast an amused eye towards him.

"Remarkable," he commented, nodding his appreciation to the waitress as she dropped off his cup of tea. "It seems I may have misread your wife. I've always been of the opinion that she would not cater to such extracurricular activities and cut you to the quick for even consideration of such."

"Put a knife through my heart then dance on my grave after, more likely," Remington smiled. "My wife is not inclined to share, at least in this particular regard. But then again, neither am I."

"Forgive me, then, if I seem confused by this course," Monroe told him, glancing at him quizzically. His friend shifted in his chair presumably to get more comfortable, while passing another glance along the veranda and exchanging another look with Astrid. Despite how it might seem to others around them, Monroe easily saw the tension in Remington's slim frame.

"Business before pleasure, mate," Remington explained with a slight shake of his head. "That's always been our motto. Laura believes this to be the most… expedient course of action. You know her well enough by now to know once she contrives a plan she's unlikely to let go of it, no matter how compelling the reasons." Monroe's eyes moved to something behind Remington.

"Seems you have caught someone's interest, mon ami. Your mark is headed this way," he warned in a low voice, then threw back his head and laughed as though Remington had just said something amusing.

"Excuse me," the blonde young woman interrupted, "I happened to notice your rackets, and was wondering if my friend and I might interest you in a game of doubles?" Remington slid his eyes slowly down the woman's curvaceous frame as he stood, allowing a light of appreciation to be reflected in his eyes.

"A truly enticing suggestion, although I am much more inclined towards singles…with the right opponent," Remington remarked with a raised brow. Taking Astrid's hand in his, he lifted it to his mouth and brushed his lips across her knuckles, holding her eyes with his own. "Reginald Whitewood."

"Astrid Covington," she introduced herself, with a heated look directed towards him. "My friend, Susan Holder." Remington bussed the back of the other woman's hand, all the while keeping his eyes on Astrid.

"Monroe Griffith," he introduced Monroe, who similarly bussed the back of each woman's hand.

"We've a court reserved for eleven, if you'd like to join us for a cup of tea in the meantime," Remington offered.

"Actually, I have a court reserved for ten," Astrid told him, taking a step closer to let her interest be known. "You could just cancel your reservation and join us now."

With a flick of his eyes towards Monroe, as though asking his opinion, after the other man nodded, Remington agreed readily to her proposal. Quickly settling his bill with the waitress, Monroe and Susan paired off, while Remington escorted the eager and unsuspecting Astrid to the courts.

* * *

Laura emerged from the water short of breath, her muscles burning and feeling absolutely accomplished. She'd pushed herself hard, running what she'd estimated was a mile stretch of beach 7 times in each direction before diving into the wave roughened waters and swimming back towards the lot where the Rabbit was parked. Pulling her hair out of the band holding it back she shook it out, allowing it to fall in damp curls around her shoulders. She noted that her skin had pinkened, both from exertion and the several hours it had been exposed to the sun. That her skin would turn lightly bronzed by evening and her freckles would darken ever so slightly was something she knew all too well. She suspected, given her husband's absolute fascination with the dark dapples of color that danced across her skin, that Remington would need to pay particular homage to them later in the evening at home. The mere thought of his long, elegant fingers tracing them, his lips caressing them, sent a jolt of anticipation through her body.

She found it alternatingly amusing and intoxicating, this particular fascination of his. Given he had small smatterings of freckles on his forehead along his hair line, and a fine spray across his nose, one would think such marks would be nothing if mundane. Yet for years she'd watched as his eyes had feasted hungrily on her skin when a dress or blouse bared her freckles to his view. In fact, she'd even been known to exploit this weakness of his when she hoped to draw him near, particularly during those months after she'd ended them in Cannes. A daring little number in Malta that bared her shoulders, a good deal of her chest and stomach particularly came to mind and she'd known only endless disappointment when seemed not to notice what she was wearing at all. It wasn't until their second visit to Cannes during their honeymoon that he'd revealed he'd not only taken notice but the outfit had made such an impression upon him that a nearly identical outfit appeared in the dressing room of the small boutique where they had been shopping.

She's worn that outfit for him for his birthday three weeks before, a tribute, of sorts, to celebrating his birthday for the first time in his life on the actual day that he'd been born. He'd been so captivated that those ever-present touches of his had amplified ten-fold, with him taking every opportunity he possibly could to brush his fingers over her bared shoulders, or to run his hand along her exposed stomach and back. By the time dinner was finished, her body had been positively humming with need. Enough so, as a matter of fact, that she briefly considered, on their way home, tabling his final gift.

But taking one look at his eyes, lit bright with a mix of love and desire, had her changing her stance on that as well. That night, after more than three years wait, she'd finally done the fan dance for him, and him alone. She'd expected, afterwards, that their joining would be fast, hard, almost desperate given the look on his face as she'd danced.

She was very wrong in that assumption.

Even now her skin tingled and her heart beat just a little faster as she remembered their love making that night. They'd fairly worshipped each other's bodies until dawn. Interspersed between lightly trailing fingers that left sparks in their wake and the gentle brushes of lips were softly spoken words, he often lapsing into Gaelic as the night wore on. 'Tá tú iontach álainn' and 'tá mo chroí istigh ionat' were the words most often spoken by him, quietly, almost reverently, multiple times across the hours that they'd loved one another. Their bodies had merged only twice, both times mesmerizingly slow, achingly gentle. She had to battle back tears several times, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all. She'd be unable to stop the wetness that escaped past her lashes the final time that they'd shattered together, as he leaned his forehead against hers and whispered, "I love you, Laura, with all that I am."

Those three words were still so difficult for him to say, although he showed her their meaning each day. In the wake of saying them, she'd felt the tremor that passed through his body, as though even now he feared the words would be unwelcome, even worse, rejected. She'd threaded her fingers through his hair to draw him full down on top of her, the length of his body pressed against the length of hers, utterly helpless to do little but whisper in return, "Oh God, Rem, I love you, sweetheart. I _love_ you." They laid that way, still connected, her hands soothing through his hair and over his back, for several minutes before he was ready to leave her body, her hands and then only to roll them to their sides facing each other, so that he could soothe his fingers over the planes of her face, the ridges of her ribs, her soft curves. His touch lulled her, and in the moment before she'd fallen asleep, he tucked her against him. She hadn't been able to keep herself from nuzzling her cheek against his chest, seeking the unending warmth of his body before sleep stole her away.

When she arrived back at the parking lot, she found herself anxious to get on the way to the LACC. Weekends, for the most part, were about she and Remington, the time they'd claimed for themselves. Sure, his twice monthly poker games and polo matches took place during that time, as did her training, but they'd taken considerable care to fit those outside activities into Friday evening and Saturday morning, so that the remainder of the weekend they could simply relax into one another's company. Well, except for every other Sunday when they spent the afternoon at Frances and Donald's. Oh, and when a case arose that demanded their attention during those hours. She furrowed her brow at the sudden realization that despite their best intentions, they could only truly claim every other weekend as their own, and this weekend, duty had called. The thought made her look all the more forward to seeing her husband soon.

Arriving at the Rabbit, Laura tilted her head while looking at the car. Despite Remington's constantly haranguing her about leaving the top down and the car unlocked when she'd be away from the car for long periods of time, she was still a habitual offender. Today, apparently, someone decided to take advantage of that fact, for she found a long stemmed, pink dahlia weaved through her steering wheel. Picking it up, she glanced around the parking lot. She knew beyond a doubt that Remington was not responsible for the flower – not only was he at White Oak hopefully working his charms on Astrid Covington, but his impeccable sense of romance would not permit him to leave anything other than a single stemmed rose, certainly not a dahlia. The odd choice of flower piqued her curiosity, admittedly, but seeing nothing amiss in the parking lot, she shrugged her shoulders and tossed the flower over on the passenger seat before climbing into her car. Two scant minutes later, the Rabbit was pointed toward the LACC, where Laura and Remington had planned to rendezvous.

* * *

Remington took a turn around the parking lot of the LACC to see if Laura had arrived yet. It was 12:55 by his watch and while he didn't honestly expect to see that his chronically late partner and wife had already arrived, he still shook his head and smiled. If there was one thing he could count on, it was that when it came to personal time, Laura was always late.

After parking the Auburn, he made his way to the terrace where they would be seated for lunch. He'd developed a habit over the last few months when waiting on Laura to join him for lunch or dinner to go ahead and place the order. Undoubtedly she would arrive famished, as she seldom thought to stop and eat of her own accord and she would gratefully dig into whatever was sat in front of her within a couple minutes of her arrival. Once he was shown their table, he positioned himself so that he could see the entrance and allowed his thoughts to wander as he awaited her arrival.

Astrid had proved a fair hand at tennis. It was clear, however, that she was far more interested in the social aspects of the game rather than the competitive ones. She and Susan were prone to holding conversations about upcoming social events in between serves, while feeling out the men partnering them to see if the any of the events seemed to hold an appeal to either of them. When Astrid mentioned a small fundraising gala being held at White Oak the following Wednesday for which, she lamented, she had no date, Remington had gallantly offered to escort her, then in follow up, suggested dinner that evening so they could get to know one another better. She'd eagerly accepted the invite, and he found himself agreeing to pick her up at seven o'clock sharp that evening. They'd parted company after the match, he one address, one phone number and two dates heavier than when he'd arrived.

All-in-all a successful outing. He knew he should feel a certain amount of smug self-satisfaction in his success, but he didn't. The whole episode had been reminiscent of days long past, where interactions were insincere and temporary pleasure was the pursuit. Of the days when one night stands meant sidling out of bed and slipping away into the night with a wink and a smile, never intending to see the young woman again as release was all that he, and they, were seeking. But most of all, it reminded him of the days when he could trust no one around him, as everyone had their own game afoot with personal gain the goal.

He fingered his wedding band now. When he'd gotten back into the Auburn at White Oak, he'd immediately retrieved it from the glove box and slid it back on. He'd needed that tangible link to Laura. He'd missed his partner on his outing that morning. While he enjoyed their work, it had never been a secret that the greatest draw of the job for him was the time they spent in one another's company, exchanging sharp witted remark and innuendos, challenging on another, bouncing ideas off each other… arguing… flirting. They'd worked separate legs of a case on their own any number of times, but could come back together at any time to pursue it together. This time? Well, he couldn't very well call his wife in to help him… charm… Astrid, now could he?

He wiped his hand across his face. This case had just begun but he wished, fervently, that it was already ending.

A smile lit his face as he saw Laura appear at the entrance to the restaurant, searching the terrace with her eyes for him. A smile that matched his own graced her lips when she found him, and strolled in that graceful way of hers towards him. He bussed her on the cheek when she drew close, and murmured a soft "Mrs. Steele," in greeting as he held out her chair for her. Warm brown eyes landed on him as she softly countered with a "Mr. Steele," of her own.

He sat down across from her and allowed himself a lazy, long look, noting the sun kissed skin, her eyes alight with a sense of accomplishment, but most of all, her utterly relaxed state.

"Good morning training, I take it, love?"

Her smile widened at the endearment. As many times as she'd heard it in the last months, it still made her heart skip a beat.

"It was. I finished the fifteen then swam for a mile to cool down. I'll be sore tonight, but it was worth it. If I keep up pace, I should be ready for the marathon."

"I still don't understand anyone's need to run twenty-six miles without good reason."

"I suppose for some, just proving they can do it is enough of a reason. For me, it's the challenge." She tapped her fingers against the table and tried to gauge his mood. "Speaking of challenges, how did things go with Astrid Covington today?"

"As planned. We'll be dining this evening and I've arranged to escort her to a charity event Wednesday evening should we not have this wrapped up by then," he filled her in.

"My, my don't you work fast," she teased. "So, where are you taking her this evening?"

"Certainly not Chez Rive or L'Ornate. Claude and Pierre would cut my heart out and send it to you in a box if I were to arrive with another woman on my arm," he commented with a shake of his head. Laura laughed with mirth. "I'm glad to see my possible dismemberment amuses you so," he said drolly. She waved her hand at him and tried valiantly to sober up. Thankfully, their salads arrived at that moment, giving her time to pull herself together.

"So, where are the two of you going this evening?" she asked.

"Keeping it simple. Dinner, a little dancing at White Oak. You and I've not spent time there, so there is less chance of anyone inadvertently blowing my cover," he noted.

"Which would be?"

"Reggie Whitewood. It seemed the most expedient course as I've already used the identity several times before."

"Mmmm," Laura agreed with a hum. "Did you have a chance to mention Reggie's line of work?"

"There's not much opportunity to engage in conversation during a match, Laura. What opportunities did exist were consumed by Astrid and her friend prattling on about their upcoming plans: luncheons, shopping trips, manicures. I'd forgotten how tediously shallow socialites can be," he groused.

"An interesting comment coming from a man who once had an unending line of buxom, bubbleheaded socialites parading through his bedroom," she commented drily.

"Perhaps I did," he agreed, not denying the charges she levied. Picking up her hand, he stroked his thumb over the back of it. "But that was before I met a stunning, exceptionally intelligent, headstrong and temperamental woman that completely captivated me, even as she held me at bay for four long years."

"Ah, you sweet talker, you," she smiled at him. "You seem to forget that your charm doesn't work on me."

"Is that so?" he asked with a smile and a raised brow. Raising her hand, he brushed his lips across her rings. "The evidence would suggest otherwise."

"Circumstantial evidence, at best," she countered, with a raised brow of her own. "It wasn't your charm that won me over, it was your heart." That heart skipped a beat at her words.

"Keep talking like that, Mrs. Steele, and we'll be heading home instead of to the links," he warned.

"I could think of worse ways to while away the afternoon than spending it in bed with you, Mr. Steele," she answered, purposely giving her voice a sultry edge. She watched with amusement as his brain sputtered, came to a stop, then engaged again.

"I see your game now and I assure you, it won't work," he told her with an amused look of his own directed towards her now. She faked a frown in response.

"And what game is that, exactly?"

"Hoping to distract me in order to deter me from firmly trouncing you on the green," he answered smugly.

"Trouncing me?" she asked, now truly offended. " _Trouncing me?_ I would hardly call a _meager_ five strokes a trouncing!"

"How is then that when you beat me by a paltry three strokes it was a veritable slaughter?" he challenged. Her lips quivered with suppressed laughter.

"Because it would've been a great deal more had I not finally taken pity on you and allowed you to spot your ball outside of the sand trap," she reminded him.

"And absent that sand trap, I would have come in a good half dozen strokes under your score, lest I remind you," he retorted, leaning back in his chair, enjoying the by-play.

"Surely you're not attempting to claim that your game is superior to my own?" she asked, leaning back in her own chair, grinning at him.

"Care to make a little wager?" he challenged, smiling wide at the glimmer in her eye.

"A wager…" she mulled, tapping a finger against her chin. "A wager... What kind of terms do you have in mind?"

"If I win, a week in Paris. I've yet to collect on that little wager, I seem to recall."

"It was a draw," she laughed. She glanced at him sideways then settled more fully back in her chair, a smug look on her face. "Alright, then if I win… You have to do all the paperwork for the Agency for one full week." Remington look at her aghast and leaned forward in his seat, to consider her.

"I offer you a week of romance in Paris should I win, and you offer in return a week of what some might view as indentured servitude?" Laura's smile only widened further.

"Lack confidence in your ability to win the wager, Mr. Steele?" He started at her words, then held out his hand.

"Not at all. You're on, Mrs. Steele." After they shook, he leaned back in his chair again, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Paris in the fall, second only to Paris in the spring. Ah, the sites I'll show you, Laura." She laughed and shook her head.

"If you win, might I remind you." Sitting up, she dropped her napkin on the table. "Shall we get this little wager underway?"

"By all mean," he agreed, dropping his own napkin on the table, then rising to give her a hand up. "To the links, Mrs. Steele?"

"To the links, Mr. Steele."


	6. Chapter 4: Repercussions

Chapter 4: Repercussions

Laura looked up from her position on the couch, surprised by the buzzing of the doorbell. A glance at her watch showed it was a little after eight, and she'd certainly not been expecting company this evening. After Remington had left for his meeting with Astrid, she'd showered and pulled on a pair of pretty little pajamas whose camisole top showed her freshly bronzed skin and darkened freckles. A glass of white wine sat on the coffee table nearby, and she'd curled up into a corner of the couch with the latest novel she was in the middle of reading. Standing now, she picked up her robe from where she'd slung it over the arm4 of the couch and slipped it on, tying the sash right before she opened the door.

"Frances!" she exclaimed, the shock at finding her sister standing on the other door apparent on her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I was town, doing some shopping," she answered, as she breezed past Laura into the living room carrying a garment and shopping bag. "Laurie Beth needed new shoes, Mindy a dress for a dance next week, Danny a new shirt and tie for the same. So I left the children at home with Donald and here I am!"

"I didn't think you ventured far from Tarzana these days," Laura commented. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"I'd love one," Frances agreed. "Normally I don't. But this is Mindy's first dance and I wanted to find her something special. I don't want her wearing something another little girl has on, so a trip to town seemed the best choice."

Frances followed Laura back to the living room, setting her purse and the bag she had in hand down on the coffee table in front of her.

"Oh, this was just lying on the floor in front of your door. I imagine someone must have dropped it," she explained, as Laura stared at the pink dahlia held in her hand.

"I imagine so," Laura answered vaguely, frowning slightly at the flower. With a small shake of her head she returned her attention to Frances. "So, was your shopping expedition a success?"

"It certainly was! And I even found something that reminded me of Remington. Where is he? I can't wait to see his face when I give it to him! It was just released on video tape and I just knew he would have to have it for his collection!" she told Laura excitedly.

"He's not home. He's out on a case," Laura explained and watched Frances's face fall in disappointment.

"Well, that's disappointing. I was so looking forward to his reaction." She handed the bag to Laura. Extracting the tape from inside, Laura's face lit up.

" _Casablanca_?! He'll be beside himself. Frances, he'll love it," she told her sister sincerely. Frances beamed for a moment, then cocked her head to the side and frowned.

"Did you say he's out on a case? On a Saturday night? And what are you doing at home?"

"I'm afraid my presence on this particular case would work against, not for us," she answered, some regret reflected in her voice.

"How is that possible? You're partners. Shouldn't you be there to back him up in case he runs into any trouble?"

"Under normal circumstances, yes," Laura agreed. "But in this case, he's on a … date… with a woman, employing his charm to elicit information from her."

"A date?" Frances repeated, clearly confused. "A date. Now, Laura, I know Remington adores you, but do you really think it's wise to send him out with another woman? You're not worried about him being, oh, I don't know, led astray?" Laura snorted lightly.

"Not at all. Frances, the man waited nearly four years for me to come around. Somehow I think he can muddle through a week or so."

"And he's okay with this?" Frances asked, clearly worried.

"Not at first, but I convinced him to see things my way." Laura reached out and patted Frances's leg. "Frances, it's fine. _We'll be fine_. We have to play roles all the time in our line of work."

"Well, you're the detective," Frances relented with a shake of her head, although the inflection in her voice clearly expressed her doubt.

"I am," Laura smiled. "Now, let me see that dress you picked up for Mindy."

Frances smiled and eagerly pulled the dress from the garment bag she'd carried in. She held up a light pink taffeta dress which cut straight across the bodice that fit snug until it flared out into a full, tea length skirt. The bodice was held up by a pair of slim spaghetti straps. Laura appreciated the dress that would be very becoming on her niece, trying not to cringe at the site of the white sweater with small pink flowers peeking out from the interior of the garment bag.

"It's lovely," she said sincerely.

"Isn't it just to die for? Mindy is going to absolutely love it!" her sister enthused.

"And the sweater? Is that also for her to wear to the dance?" she asked, unable to help herself.

"Heavens, no! Mindy would be absolutely mortified. No, the sweater is only for when we take pictures for mother, otherwise I'll hear for the next year about how I allowed Mindy to go out not looking like a proper young lady. You know her." Laura looked at her, surprised.

"Yes, _I_ know her. But I had no idea _you_ would be willing to put one over on Mother."

"Well, I do it _all the time_ , Laura. Can you imagine what it would be like for Donald and I if Mother knew Danny was playing hockey, Laurie Beth T-ball? We'd never hear the end of it," Frances answered in an exasperated voice. Laura grinned and settled into the corner of the couch with her wine.

"So what else have you been keeping from mother?" she asked.

Frances and Laura settled in for some sisterly bonding time. When Frances finally excused herself at nearly eleven-thirty, Laura shut down the apartment, pausing on her way through the living room when the dahlia lying on the coffee table caught her eye. With a shake of her head, she took it into the kitchen and tossed it in the garbage before retiring to their bedroom and crawling into bed feeling a bit forlorn. It was the first time since the night they'd returned home that she and Remington would not have their nightly talk before they went to sleep, a ritual that they'd both come to cherish. Even more so, it was the first time she would go to sleep without his arms around her in some manner other. After tossing and turning for several minutes, she flopped herself on her side with an irritated huff.

"You're being ridiculous," she admonished herself aloud. "You've gone to sleep by yourself for nearly thirty-one years, nothing's changed."

Forcing herself to shut her eyes and to lay still, she mulled the paperwork waiting on her at work, then moved on to going over her training schedule when that failed to make her drowsy. When she found herself in near desperation and actually considering the idea of counting sheep, she gave a little growl of frustration and shimmied herself across their bed. Laying her head on Remington's pillow, she inhaled his comforting scent, and finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Remington arrived home to a darkened apartment shortly after one-thirty. Quietly dropping his keys on the entry way table, he made his way across the living room in the limited light cast into the room by the windows and veranda doors. He sat down heavily on the couch, scrubbing at his face with a hand before laying his head against the back of couch and closing his eyes.

The night had started off well enough. Astrid had prattled on endlessly about a recent trip to London and then had quizzed him endlessly about places she should need to see the next time she returned. He'd been his most charming self throughout dinner, feigning interest in her tales, while regaling her with historical information about various London establishments, while neatly turning the discussion in such a way that she'd asked about his profession. That, in turn, had allowed him to spin several yarns about various jewels and antiquities he'd brokered for his British clientele. He'd made it a point to cast several admiring looks her way throughout their conversation, which she'd clearly found flattering. By the end of the meal, she was nearly putty in his hands.

Then when he'd asked her to dance it had all gone downhill… rapidly. Thinking about it now, he shook his head, and scrubbed at his face again with both hands this time, before pushing himself up from the couch and walking on catlike feet through the bedroom, closing the bathroom door quietly behind him. Stripping down, he slipped into the shower, then leaned with a hand against the wall, allowing the hot water to relieve some of his tension.

When Remington and Astrid had stepped onto the dance floor, at first all had been fine. A statuesque woman, she was what he'd once thought of as the perfect dance partner, fitting perfectly within the frame of his arms and standing nearly eye-to-eye with him. It wasn't until she'd stepped in close, running her hand up his arm and over his shoulder, so her fingers could brush against the back of his neck while tipping her head back, clearly hinting for a kiss, that the problems began. Dutifully he tipped his head down and brushed his lips against hers, only for her to flatten her palm against the back of his head, demanding more. Instinctively, he'd answered her demands, only to be assailed by a flood of guilt that had him stiffening and pulling back, leaving Astrid thoroughly confused. He'd done his best to smooth over his reaction, but had been able to tell by the look in her eyes that he'd not been successful. Even worse, he was so unprepared by his own reaction that he'd slipped out of his Reggie Whitewood persona and into that of Paul Fabrini, baffling the woman even further with his cool British tones, stiff posture and old world courtliness. Oh, he'd caught it soon enough and slid back into the role of Reggie, but not before it cast a blight across the entire evening. It was close to a miracle that Astrid had agreed to see him again the next evening.

Stepping out of the shower, he gave his hair then body a brisk rub down with the towel, before wrapping it around his waist. This time, as he passed the bed, he was unable to resist the lure of his lovely wife. That Laura was curled up on his pillow spoke volumes about how much she had missed him on the evening. He picked up a strand of her hair and rolled it in his fingers, smiling at its familiar softness.

Looking at her now, Remington realized he shouldn't have been surprised by his reaction to kissing Astrid. Nearly three and a half years ago, he'd stopped seeing other women. At first, for no other reason than he'd come to the stunning realization that as long as he kept bedding other women, Laura would see other men as well. The thought had quickly become intolerable to him, so he'd ended his trysts then and there. Not too long after that revelation came another: there was only one woman who could fulfill the deep aching need that only continued to grow across the years, and that was the woman who continued to hold him at bay. He'd remained faithful to her, even as she shoved him away, even as she ended them, because there'd been no other choice. He'd fallen head-over-heels for his battle scarred associate and friend, who'd long since come to the conclusion that she was not reason enough for any man to stay around. It was she that occupied his dreams at night, her scent that could send his heart racing, her taste that he yearned for endlessly. No, another woman had never been an option.

It was no wonder, he admitted to himself now, that when he'd kissed Astrid, he'd felt as though he was cheating on the wife he adored. But there was even something more to it; something… he simply couldn't put his finger on.

The only thing he knew with absolute finality right now was that the need to be close to Laura was overwhelming. He needed her touch to soothe him and he needed to lose himself in showering every inch of her body with his love for her.

Laura turned and searched for him, as though even in her sleep she knew he was near. Stretching out next to her, he let her find him. A smile played at the corners of her lips as her hand found flesh and with a contented sigh, she wiggled her way to him until her body pressed against his. Of its own accord, his hand stroked through her hair. Her eyes fluttered open at the contact.

"You're home," she said quietly, reaching up to lay her hand against his cheek.

"That I am," he answered just as quietly with a soft smile on his lips, nuzzling his whiskered cheek against her fingers.

Laura found Remington's eyes in the dim light of the bedroom, saw the strain around them, that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He was troubled, she knew. But the way he was holding himself announced, as clearly as any words spoken, that he wouldn't be able to put what was bothering into words. What he needed, more than anything, was touch to soothe him, to lose himself in physical contact. Without a thought, she rolled to her back, running her hand down his arm as she did so.

"Come here, Rem," she urged him in a whisper, running her hands down the bare skin of his back when he settled on top of her, bearing his weight on his arms. He arched his back into her hands, as he leaned his forehead against hers.

"Have you any idea how much you mean to me, Laura?" he asked, his voice almost raw. Her fingers found his hair, stroked through it.

"Show me," she whispered, and felt a slight shudder pass through his body at her words, even as his lips found hers to touch, to taste.

"With pleasure," he murmured against her lips. She felt it the moment his body relaxed under her hands and he lost himself in her touch.

(TBC)


	7. Chapter 5: House of Steele

Chapter 5: House of Steele

 _Sunday, September 28, 1986_

Remington awoke to the smell of something burning. Rolling over onto his stomach, he groaned into his pillow. Given Laura's absence from the bed, there was only one logical answer for the acrid smell now permeating the apartment: she'd attempted to take on Sunday morning breakfast duties on her own. How the woman couldn't even make a piece of toast boggled his mind. Despite the fact that he had the toaster set to exactly the right setting for the perfect browning, somehow, inevitably, she ended up turning a perfectly innocent piece of bread into something that resembled a charcoal briquette. With a groan, he pushed himself from the bed and, wrapping a robe around himself, wandered into the living room where he swung open wide the veranda doors before heading into the kitchen.

He found her muttering to herself in vexation. Leaning his shoulder against the door jamb, he chuckled low in his throat. Startled she looked up, a frown furrowing her brows.

"Really, love, I'm not sure what I should be more put out about: that once again I find you assaulting defenseless food, or that you've attempted to rob me of the pleasure of making you Sunday morning breakfast," he teased.

She shook her head and glared at the offending piece of blackened toast she held in her hand.

"I don't get it. You put a piece of bread in the toaster and minutes later it comes up golden brown and perfectly edible. I put a piece of bread in that same toaster, and this…" she held up the offending object "… is what I get!"

"I marvel at the matter myself," he acknowledged with a smile. Entering the kitchen, he picked her up by the waist and deposited her on the counter. "Now, what sounds appealing this morning, love?"

"If you're cooking? French Toast. If I'm cooking? Coffee," she grumbled.

"Ah, French Toast it is, then, if we have enough time. How long until we meet Meredith?"

"About an hour and a half."

"Plenty of time." He stepped forward and leaned in for a sweet little kiss, before moving away to dig through the refrigerator. When he stood with eggs, French bread and milk in his hands, Laura was slipping down off of the counter.

"Since you seem to have this under control, I'm going to start getting ready," she told him as she poured him a cup of tea.

She pressed herself up on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss against his cheek as he opened the spice cabinet. Turning to leave the room she gave a little shriek as a swift arm captured her and dragged her back into his embrace. Her shriek was muffled by his lips covering her own. Her arms slipped around his neck, fingers burrowing in his hair as she drew him even closer. There was nothing sweet about this kiss. It was meant to light the imagination on fire, to tempt, to instill hunger and ended only when she hummed softly into his mouth. With a final touch of the lips, he stepped away with a smile, and turned to the cabinet to extract a bowl. She stood watching him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, skin flushed.

"We could always skip breakfast," she suggested, her amber eyes molten with desire. His tongue flicked at his lips at the sight and to say her suggestion was tempting would be an understatement.

"And have your stomach rumbling throughout the house showings? I don't see how that is an option," he commented blithely, while casting a teasing smile in her direction. Understanding now the game afoot she gave him a small frown.

"No fair," she grumbled. His smile widened at her words.

"Fair? Perhaps not. Crafty, most certainly," he admitted, as he whisked the eggs. "I'll even give you a bit perverse. But I'll certainly be enjoying myself throughout the afternoon as that wonderful mind of yours recalls what we could be doing instead of house hunting," he grinned.

"Why did I marry you?" she lamented. Dropping the whisk, he stepped to her and pulled her back into his arms for another kiss. He plundered for a moment before pulling away and admiring the flush of her skin, her shortness of breath.

"Because you love me," he reminded her with a tender smile. Her fingers toyed with the end of his hair, as she cocked her head thoughtfully.

"Well, there is that," she agreed.

"And no one can throw you off your game quite like I can," he added smugly, before his eyes widened, then darkened as her fingernails scraped lightly over his back before a hand palmed a cheek of his bum firmly. He groaned softly and leaned down for another taste of her lips, only to find air when she slipped away.

"And no one can throw _you_ off your game quite like me," she reminded him with a laugh, as she left the kitchen. "You always seem to forget that."

He laughed even as he tamped down his body's reaction to her, and returned to making breakfast.

 _You're quite wrong in that, Miss Holt_ , he thought to himself as he turned on the flames under a pan. _For it's the very spice of life._

* * *

Shortly before eleven, Laura pulled the Rabbit up to a gate located at the end of the driveway of the house in Holmby Hills and depressed the buzzer beneath the speaker. She and Remington assessed the front side of the property as she waited a response to her page.

"Well, it's certainly private," she noted. He nodded in agreement.

"If the wall extends around the property, easily secured as well," he pointed out.

"In a nice residential neighborhood, only ten minutes from work…"

Her evaluation on the merits of the location was interrupted by a woman's voice coming across the speaker.

"Can I help you?" the speaker asked.

"Meredith, it's Laura and Remington," she called back.

"Come on in," the speaker replied, warmth evident in her voice.

The gate swung open and Laura pointed the nose of the Rabbit down the slightly longer than a football field length drive that ended in a circle. Extracting himself from the car, Remington stood next to the car giving the house in front of him an assessing look as Laura joined him. His hand reached for hers and their fingers tangled.

The house was an appealing mix of Cape Cod with enough of a touch of the tradition found in homes on the British Isles that it called to them both. The light beige exterior, was enhanced by the brown shingled roof and white trim along windows and accents. A brick walkway led to the front door, with a bed of flowers planted along either side, bordering the verdant lawn. The house offered a bounty of tall windows assuring the interior would be light and bright throughout the day. A carport on the left side of the house would allow them to park under shelter for quick entry to and from the house during inclement weather. They could see a three car, detached garage peeking out from the back on the left side of the house as well.

"If the inside is as perfect as the outside…" Laura left the statement unfinished at Remington's nod of agreement.

"Let's see, shall we?"

The couple was greeted at the front door by their realtor. The diminutive older woman's eyes sparkled with warmth.

"This is quite the find, Remington," she said by way of greeting.

"Mmmm," he hummed in agreement. "Maxie and Veronica have impeccable eyes."

"Well, I'll let the two of you have a look around. Meet me out back when you're done," she told them excusing herself.

Laura and Remington took in the foyer. High ceilings, with warm, nearly black wood floors and white walls, it extended as a hallway along the length of the house. To the right side stood a staircase, and off either side of the hall, two rooms, along with what appeared to be a dining room at the end of it. 'Welcoming' was the word that came to both of their minds. Peeking into the room on the left, they saw a large formal living room, then turned their attentions towards the right. Wandering into that room, they both stilled. Nearly the entire side of the room and along the back were flanked with a series of windows and French doors that stood at eight feet tall. The room was awash with daylight, and the vaulted ceiling gave the room a refreshing airiness. The dark wood floor extended throughout the room. On the right, rear side of the room was an elevated area, likely meant as informal dining, but surrounded by tall windows and a chandelier hanging down in the center, would make the perfect home for Laura's piano. A fireplace, white marble with a white wood mantle, graced the wall on the lower area. She could already envision a warm yet elegant living room arrangement set out before it.

They moved towards the back of the room into what was designated as informal dining. The large space was separated from the kitchen by a long peninsula. Laura noted a second fireplace banked the wall, this one black marble with a black trimmed mantle - the perfect compliment to the fireplace on the other side of the expansive space. Remington's attention was immediately drawn to the kitchen. Recently updated, it was a chef's dream with its subzero refrigerator, six burner gas range, double ovens, dishwasher, hard installed microwave, wine fridge, dual sinks and with an enormous island in the center of it all replete with a prep sink. He marveled at the number of cabinets and was already picturing in his mind exactly where everything would go.

Laura watched him with a bemused look on her face. His reaction left no doubt that he'd found the kitchen of his dreams. She had to pry him from the kitchen in order to see the rest of the house. On the other side of the kitchen was an entrance to the elegant, formal dining room, once more complete with a fireplace. Through another set of doors, they found themselves in a second living room and at the back end of it, much to her delight, a pair of glass doors that led into a large, yet somehow cozy, room, too, had windows along two walls, with a pair of French doors that led outside to a private garden. This time, it was she that had to be pried away by Remington, as she pictured how she'd lay out the office if they bought the house.

Upstairs they found three spacious guest bedrooms, each with their own bath, and a master suite that seemed to go on for days. The room was large enough for a sitting area, a king sized bed, plenty of furnishings, and best of all, featured a black, marble fireplace that matched the one down stairs. The window seat tucked into an alcove captured her imagination, as she imagined curling up with a book there on rainy days. Further explorations uncovered a massive walk-in closet with built ins that would more than suffice for both of their extensive wardrobes, and a bathroom reminiscent of the one in their suite at the Four Seasons in New York with its rich, dark grey woods and white marble. Remington looked appreciatively at the large, jetted bathtub, imagining the delight of bathing with Laura in it.

Leaving the master bedroom, they wandered back down the hallway towards the other side of the staircase to look at the only room left. Opening the door, they found a large room, set up currently as a game room. Windows banked one wall, leaving the other three devoid of any openings.

"Your very own screening room?" Laura asked, a wide smile on her face.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a dance studio for you, actually," he told her returning the smile. "The wood floors are perfect, and we could install a bar and mirrors along any one of these walls." She pursed her lips.

"Only if you set up half the room as a studio of your own…" she negotiated. He looked at her askance.

"If you think I'll be in here practicing ballet…" She laughed and cut off his words with a finger to his lips.

"Actually, I was thinking along the lines of an art studio." Surprised, he raised a brow to her, then giving it more thought, found the idea rather appealing.

"Perhaps," he acquiesced. "Shall we go take a look around outside?"

Returning downstairs, they exited the house through a pair of French doors in the informal dining room. Tangling fingers again, they walked the length of the covered patio, which featured two seating areas, a dining area and an outdoor kitchen replete with a built in fridge and commercial grade gas grill. A third seating area was found on the other side of the pool and centered around a large, outdoor fireplace. The substantial rectangular pool featured a hot tub at one end and a slide and diving board at the other. The patio and pool area was surrounded by a low slung fenced with ivy climbing over it, offering complete privacy. A look through the gate showed an expansive lawn behind. They returned their attention to the pool area.

"You could swim laps each morning and never leave home," Remington pointed out.

"I could," she agreed with a nod of her head. He stepped closer to her, and leaned his head down next to her ear.

"And the hot tub holds endless possibilities," he murmured next to her ear, then stood back to watch the flush that covered her skin as the kiss from that morning came to the forefront of her mind, reminding her of exactly all that they could do.

"Mmmmm," he hummed, drawing a single finger along her jaw and chin. "Absolutely delightful."

She surprised him when she took a step back, and instead of looking away with her typical, sudden shyness, instead looked him over boldly from head-to-toe, before stepping close and laying her lips next to his ear.

"Reminds me of Vail, and the first time I ever felt you under my hands, in my hands," she breathed. Now it was she that enjoyed watching him react to the memory she evoked. He gave a small groan.

"Laura…" he said warningly.

"Turnabout, Remington, turnabout," she laughed, then turned back around to look at the back of the house, imaging quiet evenings spent lounging under the patio, her nieces and nephews swimming, and Fourth of July barbeques. She looked up when he took her hand back into his.

"So, Mrs. Steele, what do you think?" he asked in a low voice.

"I think…" she said thoughtfully "That's it's the perfect blending of you and I, it has everything on our wish list and, best of all, it's a house that we can grow into." He zeroed in on her last words.

"Grow into? Are you saying you wish to have a family with me, Laura?" he asked, his voice tinged with both utter shock and a touch of wistfulness.

"One day, but not yet," she answered lightly. "It may be selfish, but I'm not ready to share you." He gave her hand a squeeze, releasing it and stepping behind her to run a hand across her waist. He tucked his head down on her shoulder.

"Nor I you. But one day…" he let the words trail off, then watched the soft smile spread on her lips as she kept her eyes on the house.

"One day…" she confirmed. Then with a small shake of her head, changed the direction of their conversation. "So what do _you_ think?"

"I think Maxie and Veronica know us fairly well. It feels like…"

"Home," she finished his sentence for him, both nodding their heads.

"Let's go find Meredith, then," he suggested, releasing her from his arms and reclaiming her hand.

They found the agent by the three car garage. After a quick look inside, and a tour of the one bedroom apartment above, she looked at them expectantly.

"So, what did you think?" she asked.

Remington glanced at Laura and at her nod told the agent, "Make them an offer, twenty-five thousand under asking if they require a long close, full asking price if they can vacate within sixty days. We'd like to be moved in and settled before the holidays." Laura's face glowed at his last words, imagining their first Christmas as husband and wife, in a home they owned together. All ready she was picturing exactly where she'd put the tree.

"Why don't we go inside and get the contracts signed then?" Meredith suggested.

A little more than thirty minutes later, the Steele's had signed the official contract offering to purchase the home. Now, they could only wait to see if the offer was accepted.

* * *

On the way back to the flat, Laura and Remington had stopped by a pub nearby to grab a bite of lunch. When they arrived home, they had most of the afternoon ahead of them completely to themselves, before he'd have to head out for his next date with Astrid. He'd watched her on and off during lunch, noting the increasingly stiff way she held herself, and the wan look that normally accompanied a headache.

"Not feeling well?" he asked to which he received a grimace in reply. Quick calculations provided the answer. _Ah,_ he thought. "I was thinking a nice, lazy day, just the two of us, would be perfect. What about you, Mrs. Steele?"

"I'd say it's just what the doctor ordered, Mr. Steele," she answered, knowing he'd put it together.

When they arrived home, he walked directly to the bathroom while she veered towards the kitchen. When she joined him several minutes later carrying two glasses of wine, the tub was nearly full and Remington had turned off the lights, allowing the candles he'd scattered about the room to provide a soft, comforting light that wouldn't bother Laura's headache. Stripping down, he climbed into the tub, then waited while she stretched out between his legs and leaned back against his chest. Her eyes closed as his fingers found her temples, massaging.

"You never told me how last night went," she reminded him, frowning slightly as she felt fleeting tension in his body beneath her. She'd forgotten the strain she saw around and in his eyes when he'd woken her the night before, but now it came back to her in a rush. Something was clearly bothering him and she debated for several seconds about whether or not she should attempt to pry it out of him. For now, she decided to let him lead her to that decision.

"Well enough," he answered, not really lying but skirting the full truth at the same time. "After listening to a dreadfully boring recitation of her time in London, I managed to redirect the conversation to Whitewood's profession."

"Did she bite?" she asked, perking up at the news.

"Not yet, though it was clear I'd piqued her interest. I've agreed to meet her in San Diego this evening to attend the ballet. She has a dinner commitment there beforehand." He felt Laura's shoulders sag in disappointment, before she nodded.

"Another late night then, but for good cause at least."

He hummed his acknowledgment of her statement, leading her to draw her own conclusions. It would be another late night, but in his opinion the worthiness of the cause was questionable. Quick to read her partner and husband's mood, she moved away from the hands at her temples and turned to look at him. The strain around his eyes was back and when he purposefully averted his eyes from hers, she knew he was hiding something.

"What aren't you telling me, Remington?" He nudged her back around and resumed massaging her temples.

"Nothing more than what I already said when you conceived of this ruse." She heaved a soft puff of exasperation.

"I don't understand what your problem is," she said crossly. "If the shoe were on the other foot and you asked me to lure a suspect into giving up the goods, I wouldn't be as put out as you obviously are."

"Ah, and perhaps therein lies your answer," he answered vaguely, as his hands grasped her waist and turned her back around. "Let it go, Laura. I've agreed to see the ruse through and I will. For now, I believe we agreed to a lazy afternoon together. And, it seems to me, the first step towards making that happen is alleviating you from your various aches and pains." His voice gentled. "Lean forward, love." She considered arguing the point further, but realizing there was little use and not wanting to ruin what time they had together before he left for the evening, she let it go.

Leaning forward, she concentrated on his hands. Less than ten minutes into his massage, he felt the tension release in her lower back, and she gave a small hum of relief while sinking back to lay against him. Lifting her hand behind her, she stroked his cheek.

"Your hands are truly magic, Mr. Steele," she breathed. He nuzzled the top of her head with his chin.

"Better then?"

"Much."

"Then perhaps we should vacate the tub before we prune, eh?" he suggested. "Besides, I've an overwhelming urge to stretch out on the couch with my wife and simply enjoy my time with her this afternoon."

"Oh, is that right?" She asked rising from the tub and stepping out. "I _suppose_ that could be arranged," she lightly teased as she grabbed a towel, laughing at Remington's groan of disappointment behind her. With her delightful little body now effectively blocked from view, he followed her from the tub. This time, it was Laura's turn to admire the view, taking an appreciative look at her husband via the mirror in front of her. Her pulse quickened at the sight. _He is truly a beautiful man,_ she thought to herself, completely oblivious to him watching her watch him in the mirror.

"Hmmmm," he hummed, "You're leading us into waters in which we can't swim at the moment, love," he commented with an amused voice. Laura's eyes met his in the mirror and she blushed becomingly. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he moved to her, brushing his lips across a bare shoulder before continuing on to the bedroom to get dressed.

In a manner that had become more common over the last year on lazy days spent at home, the Steele's dressed very un-Steelelike, opting for comfort over appearance. Laura left her hair down, and unstraightened, not only because it was the easier choice, but because she was well-aware her husband adored it when she allowed her curls to go free. She slid on a pair of loose fitting shorts and a tank top as she watched Remington slip into a pair of lounging pants before pulling a t-shirt over his head. He grabbed their untouched glasses of wine while she fished a light afghan from the closet and followed him into the living room.

Seeing the plastic bag laying on the coffee table, reminded Laura of Frances's gift for Remington.

"Frances stopped by last night while in town shopping," she told him, handing him the bag. "She was beside herself when she found this and had to bring it right over." He quirked a single brow upwards in surprise.

"For me?" She hummed affirmatively. Grinning like a child on Christmas morning, he dug into the bag, his smile growing even wider when he pulled the video from the bag. " _Casablanca?_ I'd heard it was to be released soon, but I'd no idea it already had been. I can't believe Frances saw this and thought of me."

"Well, she _is_ rather fond of you, though I can't imagine why," Laura teased. "I'll lay odds that she picked up a copy for herself and Donald now that you've managed to get them hooked on classic movies as well."

"Hmmmm, a wonderful thing, a family with good taste." He chuckled when she rolled her eyes at him, before getting up and putting the tape in the VCR. Returning to the couch, he nudged her out of the way to stretch out, then wrapped her in his arms when she lay down next to him. "I can hardly think of a more perfect way to spend the afternoon. Bogart and Bergman, a good glass of wine…" he nuzzled her cheek with his, then whispered in her ear, "… my Ilsa."

She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek as she turned her head to press her lips against his neck. "I could think of worse ways to spend the day."

"Worse ways?" he asked, pretending to be affronted.

"That's the best you're going to get from me, Mr. Steele. Take it or leave it."

"Mmmm," he hummed neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He settled in fully behind her before draping the blanket over them.

They immersed themselves in the epic love story. Laura's hand stroked the arm at her waist, leading him to often nuzzle his head against hers or to hum in contentment. Her fingers found his neck to stroke when he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"'I was wondering… Why I'm so lucky. Why you were waiting for me to come along.'"

She would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that she felt her heart skip a beat at his words. Wriggling around to face him, she considered him with soft, love-filled amber eyes. Stroking the stubborn lock of hair from his forehead, she laid her hand against his cheek.

"I think I should be asking that question of you," she told him quietly, then watched as emotion clouded his face. His hand found its way to the back of her neck, to caress, to cajole.

"Come here, Laura," he whispered. His lips found hers when she lifted her chin toward him. She sighed against his lips, the gentleness of the kiss stealing her breath from her. When it ended, she found the warmth of his body was a far greater lure than the movie playing behind her. Snuggling her head into his chest, she nudged his legs apart to slide one of hers between them before wrapping her hand around his and tucking their joined hands up against herself. She allowed the scent of him, the feel of him, to lull her to sleep.

When the movie ended, Remington slid carefully out from around Laura, tucking the blanket in around her as he bent over her, before bussing the side of her head. He meandered into the kitchen where he put together an antipasto salad for her for dinner, knowing all too well that she would likely resort to a piece of fruit and little else if something wasn't already prepared. Only after he'd placed the salad in the refrigerator did he adjourn to their bedroom to get ready for his rendezvous with Astrid that evening.

Thirty minutes later, attired in a black tux he returned to the living room and stood watching his wife sleep. He gave a shake of his head, then leaned over to touch his lips to her cheek. He was unable to stop himself from fingering a silken strand of her hair, before giving his head another shake. He moved to the entry way table and scribbled a quick note, then returned to lay it on the coffee table under her still full glass of wine. With a final look at her, he left the apartment with no little regret.


	8. Chapter 6: Consequences

Chapter 6: Consequences

Remington arrived at the Lyceum Theatre in San Diego at 8:25. That evening's production of _Giselle_ was due to begin at 9:00, thus, he and Astrid had arranged to meet in the lobby at 8:30. She would be accompanied by her dining companions, Jane Holder – Monroe's tennis partner the day prior – and Jane's husband, James. He couldn't help but wish it were he and Laura in attendance at the ballet at the Alex Theatre back in LA, that than he waiting on Astrid to arrive.

He had dwelled throughout the two-hour drive on the situation at hand. When he and Laura returned from their honeymoon, it had been her suggestion that evenings after eight and weekends were to be their time together. After the first few chaotic weeks of working long – very long – days in order to get clients situated and revenue flowing after their long absence, they had happily settled into their evenings and weekends alone together. That Astrid had already usurped on Saturday morning tennis with Laura, their evening together the night before, and now their Sunday evening, was not sitting at all well with him.

The fact that the fourth Sunday of each month was a difficult day for Laura and one of the few times she would gladly allow him to care for her, irritated him all the more. Five years ago, he'd never have believed he'd positively relish taking care of someone else. But cherish those moments, he did. For a man that believed one's deeds showed more than anything else one's level of affection and commitment to another, on those rare occasions when she would turn to him… well, it made him feel that she needed him as much as he did her. And _that_ was a glorious feeling indeed. He never felt closer to her, more married, than at times like those.

He had to forcefully shake him from his reverie as he saw Astrid and her friends enter the lobby of the theatre. Despite his antipathy with the situation, even he had to admit that Astrid looked splendid, decked out in a form fitting, blue, sequined gown that clung to her curves in all the right places. Her blonde hair was elegantly coifed and the sapphire and diamond necklace and earrings were the perfect accessories.

Pasting a smile on his face, he crossed the room to her, then lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. Astrid glowed at the courtly gesture.

"You look beautiful," he complimented her, while offering her an elbow. Sliding her hand through the crook in his arm, she introduced him to her companions. Remington exchanged a handshake with James before the two couples strolled to the entrance of the theatre.

Unlike the Alex Theatre, the Lyceum did not offer the box seating that Remington preferred, yet still, all-in-all he found their seating adequate. He could not help but notice that Astrid has positioned herself in her seat in such a way that she leaned towards him, while allowing her dress to drape in such a manner that her long leg as revealed to mid-thigh by the slit in the side of her dress. Well-versed in the body language of women, he knew she was making her interest in him known. While once such an offering would have been well-received, with a bit of smugness to boot, now he resisted the urge to lean away. Instead, he focused on engaging small talk.

"Have you seen _Giselle_ before?" he inquired.

"Every year," she beamed. "After all, what woman can resist a tragic love story, beautifully rendered into a dance that completely captivates one's imagination."

"Tragic is certainly an apt description," he concurred, "although one might contend that it's anything but a love story given the deceit by Albrecht."

"True. It may be a lopsided love affair, but I think Albrecht did care in his own way. The scene at Giselle's graveside is absolutely haunting."

Remington nodded his agreement and said a small prayer of thanksgiving when the theatre lights blinked then dimmed, indicating the beginning of the performance. He quashed the urge to run a hand across his mouth while wishing fervently that the evening would pass quickly and smoothly.

That was not to be the case however. While minutes seemed to drag on as though they were hours in length, he'd found himself in the wholly untenable position of wishing he were able to brush Astrid's wandering hands off of him. By the time the ballet had ended, she'd made it clear by the way she leaned in to whisper him, while rubbing a hand over a shoulder that she was hoping for a romantic interlude before the night's end.

 _Bloody hell,_ he lamented to himself.

* * *

Laura woke shortly after six-thirty to find herself in a silent, empty apartment. Sitting up, she rubbed her face, before looking around, already lamenting that she'd missed saying goodbye to Remington. She hadn't meant to fall asleep on him, but had been unable to help herself. Between the hot bath, the massage, then just the comforting smell of him and the warmth of his body… She shook her head. It had most definitely been a lazy Sunday, for her at least.

Aggravated with herself, she pushed herself up from the couch and went into the bedroom to change into running clothes. While she still didn't feel up to par, she needed to keep up with her training if she was to be ready for the marathon and, even more so, it would burn away some of the long hours ahead. It was only when she picked up the afghan to fold it and put it away that she saw the note under her glass of wine.

A smile graced her face as she read the note:

 _L – Tossed together an antipasto salad for your dinner._ _Eat it_ _. – R. P.S. Have I ever told you how  
beautiful you are when you sleep?_

While the thought of food hadn't even crossed her mind, knowing it was prepared and waiting for her in the fridge set her stomach to growling. Mulling it over, she decided the carbs would do wonders for her energy level during her run. Pulling the meal from the fridge, she sat at the dining room table and tucked herself into the delicious fare. A year ago she likely would have adamantly denied the fact but, now, she no longer could. _I love that he can't help but try to take care of me, in all those little ways of his._ She sighed softly and with a soft nip at her lip, found herself wishing again that he were home with her.

Setting down her fork, she lifted her left hand and considered it at length, while fingers from her right hand stroked her wedding and engagement ring. Three months into their second marriage – the one they both considered to be official – and she still couldn't believe that they were actually husband and wife. Only six months ago, they'd stood on a beach admitting that they wanted their relationship to move forward, but she'd had no idea how they would do that. She'd desperately needed the words from him, the ones he couldn't say, and he, just as desperately, needed to show her. Despite the steps they'd taken in the months since he'd come home from London, they had still been unable to cross that particular divide, and it had taken her a while to admit that she'd put up another blockade in another attempt to keep some distance between them. His letter to her had gone a long way to healing them, to encouraging her to start the process of demolishing yet another roadblock.

Never, in her wildest dreams, however, had she imagined that they would end up here… married. And happy. Blissfully, almost overwhelmingly happy.

She laughed softly to herself, and dropping her hand, returned her attention to her food, finishing off the meal he'd made for her. After quickly washing, drying and putting away her plate and fork, she headed out of the apartment to start her run.

* * *

It was nearly nine o'clock when Laura stepped off the elevator at the fifth floor of the Rossmore. The run had done her worlds of good: her muscles were loose, the endorphins were pumping but, most of all, she felt the sense of accomplishment that always came at the end of a run. As much as she valued her time with Remington, she would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the time she took for herself, as much as he enjoyed the time he took for polo, fencing, poker, and, more recently, his art. That they took the time for themselves without remorse or regret, only spoke all the more to the fact that her long-standing fear that he would consume her was unfounded.

Her reverie was interrupted when in the few short steps from the elevator, she spied yet another pink dahlia lying at their door, this time with an envelope underneath. She paused mid-step, staring at it. She'd shrugged off the first flower found on her car at the beach. Last night, when Frances had found one outside their door, her curiosity had only been triggered for a minute before she was distracted by Frances and later her irritation at being unable to sleep without Remington next to her. Now, however, she felt a frisson of unease ripple down her spine and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. It had been only seven months since Wally had sent her a bevy of presents under the guise of her secret admirer. She'd nearly lost Remington then when Wally had rigged the elevator hoping to kill him and, later, was herself held hostage by her stalker in his apartment.

This was far too reminiscent of that time. She'd believed, then, that Remington was responsible for the gifts, but of course he had not been. Now, she was absolutely certain that her husband was not behind this either. Only twice had he presented her with flowers in any form: a single rose on top of the piano he'd given her and then, of course, when he'd sent her bushels and baskets of flowers for days on end from a presumed secret admirer, in order to feign jealousy.

 _Surely, Wally is not out of the psychiatric hospital already,_ she thought to herself now. Even the thought that he might be sent her nerves atwitter. He was a direct threat to both she and Remington, and Laura had no doubt that if Wally were free, her husband would become immediately overly protective, unwilling to risk her at the man's hands again.

Picking up the flower and envelope, she pried open the flap of the envelope and peeked inside. The black and white photo within provided absolutely no comfort, as she immediately found herself back in Wally's apartment, remembering the wall of photos that he'd taken of her. Bracing herself, she slowly pulled the photo from the envelope. She could only stare at the picture, thoroughly confused at what its intent was meant to be. Why would anyone be sending her a picture of Remington and Astrid dancing at the White Oak Country Club the night before? How… or did… this connect to the dahlia? Could the photo and flower have come from two different people?

She gave her head a slight shake to calm the whirlwind of thoughts flowing through her mind. _Think like the detective you are, Holt. First things first. Was anyone seen coming up to our apartment?_ With that thought in mind, she returned to the elevator, punching the button for the lobby. When she stepped out in the foyer downstairs, she immediately scanned the area for their doorman. Spying Charlie – a slightly overweight, fortyish, partially balding man behind the desk at the corner of the lobby, she walked briskly over to him. He stood immediately on her approach.

"Mrs. Steele," he acknowledged with the friendly smile for which he was known. Laura couldn't help but return the smile, despite being on a mission for facts.

"Hi, Charlie," she returned the greeting. "I have a question for you, if you don't mind. I'm hoping you can help me solve a little mystery."

Curiosity twinkled in Charlie's eyes and he puffed out his chest slightly. Everyone in the building knew that Mr. and Mrs. Steele were detectives and they were often featured in the press, especially Mr. Steele, for the cases that they solved. The possibility that he might be able to provide them with assistance on a case? Well, he felt a surge of importance, that left him nearly giddy.

"Absolutely, Mrs. Steele. Anything I can do, anything at all," he fawned over her. "You need help solving a case?"

"Nothing quite so glamorous, Charlie," she answered, her smile widening. She found she had to suppress a laugh at his eagerness. "I'm just trying to solve the mystery of who's been leaving things at our door the last two nights. Did you happen to see anyone come through the lobby between 6:45 or so and now, carrying either this flower," she held it up, "or maybe this envelope?" She held the envelope up for display, as well, for good measure.

"No, ma'am. I've not seen anyone come through that doesn't live here, except for Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle's son and daughter-in-law, and they only live on the second floor," he answered eagerly. Laura pursed her lips, and frowned slightly, thinking.

"There's no chance that you could have missed someone coming through? You haven't taken a break, stepped out for any reason?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Charlie said slowly, scratching at his head, "I did leave for a short while to take Mrs. Reiser's dog for a walk. She broke her hip, you know, and Mr. Folsom has instructed all us doormen that we need to help her out."

"What time was that?" She watched as he thought about the question and scratched at his head again, trying not to roll her eyes.

"Around 7:15, I think. I'm pretty sure." He gave his head a nod. "Yes, 7:15. I walked Maggie to the pub in back, so would have been gone about thirty minutes or so, I think. Yes, that sounds about right. Thirty minutes."

"Thanks, Charlie," Laura told the man, before turning to return to the elevator, frustrated that she had come up empty handed. She paused, then turned back to face him. "Charlie, will you do me a favor and let me know if you happen to see anyone out of place until I tell you otherwise?"

"Absolutely, Mrs. Steele. You can count of me," he puffed, proudly.

"Thank you, Charlie."

Laura strode across the lobby towards the elevator, dropping the flower in the trash can before she got on the elevator again. Tapping her finger against her lips, she made a decision.

Forty-five minutes later she was dressed in a pair of slacks and a blouse, and walking out the door.

* * *

Remington hung up the receiver on the pay phone a bit harder than necessary. He'd tried twice during intermission to call home and check on Laura and had just excused himself to 'wash up' before he and Astrid departed the theatre for Los Angeles so that he could call home again. Like his first two attempts, the phone only stopped ringing when their answering machine picked up. On a sudden inspiration, he picked up the phone again, inserted his coins and dialed her car phone. When it, too, went unanswered, he hung up the receiver softly this time with a shake of his head. Pasting a smile on his face, he returned to the theatre lobby, offering Astrid an arm as he escorted her to the Auburn. Her eyes lit up at seeing the pristine, vintage car.

"What a remarkable car, Reggie," she purred.

Remington's face lit up with a genuine smile for the first time on the evening. Not only was the topic excessively neutral, but he took great pride in his car.

"Indeed. I ran across her a couple years back and acquired her from the current owner for a song. Certainly, one doesn't find many 1936 super-charged Auburn Speedsters driving about," he told her, as he handed her into the car. Closing the door he stepped off the curb, and rounded the car. Climbing in, he started the car and pulled out of the lot as Astrid took in the exterior of the car.

"It feels like it's straight out of an old movie," she enthused. "I can see it now: The car parked on a cliff, overlooking the Pacific. The only sound that of the waves crashing on the shore below, and soft music playing on the radio. A full moon overhead, the stars bright. And a beautiful couple, indulging in a little forbidden romance." As she spoke, she leaned closer to Remington, then ran her hand brazenly up the inside of his thigh and across his lap, giving him a soft squeeze, while taking a playful nip at his earlobe.

Caught off guard, his hand jerked the wheel hard. She gave a sultry little laugh, applying slightly more pressure with her hand, as her lips skimmed his neck.

"Maybe we could find somewhere private…" she hinted boldly, as she felt his body beginning to respond under her fingers.

It took all of his abilities to stay within character, when what he most wanted to do was pick up her hand and fling it off of him. Instead, he picked her hand up off her lap, and brushed lips across the back of it, before laying it back on her own lap. Perplexed, she leaned back in her seat to consider him.

"You're not interested?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"I never said that," he denied. "I think if you knew the history of this car when it comes to … dalliances… you'd understand." He flashed her a feigned smile.

"Oh?" she commented, her interest clearly piqued. "And what is that?"

"That every couple who has had an assignation in this car, has found that their relationship coming to an ignominious end."

"Really?" She was transfixed by the tale. "Do you know any of the stories?"

"Mmmmm," he hummed in the affirmative. "A doctor who lost his license after having an affair with a patient in this car. A man who was compelled to murder's his lover's husband after an a tete-a-tete in the car. The list goes on."

"You've never been tempted to test the waters?" she queried.

 _Absolutely, with my wife,_ he thought to himself. He tossed Astrid an appalled look. "Absolutely not, especially since it seems it is the man that always meets the worst fate."

"Superstitious?" she asked laughingly.

"When it comes to cars with curses? Let's just say, I don't think it's wise to test the waters," he answered, then carefully steered the conversation away from the car, hoping she'd follow. "After all, my own doomed family lineage attests to the validity of curses."

"Your 'doomed family lineage'?" she wondered aloud.

"Mmmmm," he hummed again. "My father, the Duke of Rutherford…"

"Wait!" She held up a hand to silence him, and a glance showed her eyes alight with unconcealed interest. "Your father is a Duke? As in British royalty."

"Yes, or at least was, though I rarely speak of it…" he pretended to hedge.

"I would think you would take a great deal of pride in descending from royal lineage. Why would you want to hide it?"

"You wouldn't understand," he answered, with a huff of affected frustration. "To spend a lifetime where women pretend interest in you when in fact they were only chasing a title. It's bloody well exhausting."

"I take it you're titled as well then?" she asked with a predatory gleam in her eye.

"Since my father's death last year, I am the current Duke of Rutherford," he prevaricated.

"Are you telling me you could one day become king?" she asked, stunned.

"I believe I am forty-sixth in the line of ascension, so it's highly doubtful," he laughed. "That is, of course, fine by me, as I'd much rather follow my own pursuits."

"Your work?"

"Mmmm," he acknowledged. "I come by it naturally. Growing up, and learning of family members felled by cursed works of arts and jewels can inspire an interest, most certainly."

"It would seem to me that it would lead inspire you to avoid such pieces," she commented.

"Perhaps. But my interest in family lure helped lead to considerable knowledge in both areas. And I must admit," he quirked a brow towards her, "That there is a certain… thrill… in rehoming private pieces that, for whatever reason, someone wants to remain under the radar, so to speak." Astrid frowned in his direction.

"Are you saying that the deals you broker are less than legal?"

Remington pretended to be affronted by the question. "Absolutely not. I've no desire to cross the law. I enjoy my freedom far too much." He paused, thinking on the best approach. "To be more precise, I've brokered quite a few deals for several well-to-do families who've hit hard times and need to liquidate some of their assets who do not wish their identities not to be disclosed during transactions. Mine is not to reason why, but only to get them the best price for what they are offering."

"How do you find the sellers… and buyers? I'm intrigued," she probed, clearly feeling him out.

For the duration of the ride back to LA, Remington spun numerous yarns and was beyond pleased to see that she seemed to be falling for the con. He was prepared to call the evening a resounding success until he walked Astrid to her door. As he turned to face her and wish her a good night, she wound her arms around his neck, threading her hands through his hair and drawing his head down to hers. Her kiss was both aggressive and seductive and he instinctively responded. His willing participation lasted only a matter of moments, when he felt as though he had been sucker punched, as overwhelming guilt rolled across his body. He stiffened against her automatically, even as her hand slid across his chest. She was seemingly unware of his sudden reticence, as her lips left his mouth and found his neck.

"My house isn't cursed," she hinted, as her hand stroked over his stomach, to his back before massaging a cheek of his bum suggestively. "Would you like to come in?"

His mind raced to find an excuse to refuse, even as he resisted the urge to sling her hand off of him. With a show of aggressiveness that reminded him far too much of a couple of women of his past to whom he was no more than a pretty toy to be played with, Astrid moved her hand to his front and stroked him enthusiastically. Unable to control the impulse he extracted himself from her embrace and took several steps back. He tried valiantly to cover his gaffe, taking both of her hands in his and brushing his lips across the back of each.

"While I'd like nothing more, I'm afraid I've a seven o'clock flight to San Francisco for a business meeting. If I return in time, perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow evening?" He flashed a charming smile at her.

"I'd like that," she agreed.

"I'll call you then," he told her, brushing his lips over her cheek. "Until then, Astrid." With a last smile in her direction, he strolled casually back to the Auburn. With a final wave at her to where she watched him from inside of her front door, he turned the car towards home.

* * *

Laura had gone to the office when she left their apartment earlier in the evening. Sitting down at Mildred's desk, she'd flipped on their secretary's computer and with some effort, finally tapped into the prison records she was seeking. While they held no information on Wally, as he was presumably ensconced in a psychiatric hospital somewhere, she was able to confirm the whereabouts of some of their former suspects that had no love lost for either Remington or her. Phil Lydon, James Ryan, Turk, Carl, Wendall Whitaker, Clarissa Custer and Anthony Delgetti were all still behind bars. She was shocked to find that Major DesCoines was currently in the hospital ward of the state prison and had been for some time. It seemed, though, that all their major nemeses were accounted for. Once she put Mildred on Wally in the morning, she'd know for sure where they were at.

In the meantime, she drove home, deflated that she'd not unveiled who might have been responsible for the flowers and/or the picture. She arrived home at shortly before midnight. Plucking the t-shirt Remington had worn that afternoon out of the top of the laundry hamper, she inhaled deeply. Breathing in his scent, she immediately felt more relaxed. Stripping off her clothes, she pulled it on, then after a quick brush of her teeth, climbed into bed. She stared at the picture she'd tossed on the bed before getting dressed, and finally, with a small growl of irritation, shoved it into the nightstand.

Right before she fell asleep, wrapped around her husband's pillow, she made the unilateral decision not to say anything to Remington about either the picture or the mysterious flowers. _Not yet, not until I can provide answers as well._ She assuaged her guilt at keeping the secret from her partner and husband by convincing herself that she didn't want to worry him unless she determined, emphatically, that there was something to be concerned about in the first place. She fell into a restless sleep.

In a near repeat of the night before, Remington entered the apartment quietly. It was nearly two-thirty in the morning and knowing Laura would be getting up in just a few hours, he didn't want to wake her. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself of at first, but it didn't work. Walking soundlessly over to the small bar in the dining room, he poured himself a finger of scotch, then, with glass in hand, sank down on the couch, willing his tension to go away.

A bevy of emotion had battered him on the thirty-minute drive home and had not lessened, let alone abated. It did not help at all that he could still smell Astrid on him, taste her on him, recall his reactions to her when she'd kissed him, touched him. Thinking he could at least eliminate one of those issues at the moment, he took a swig of his scotch and held it in his mouth for a long second before swallowing it. Feeling slightly better that the woman no longer lingered on his lips, on his tongue, he forced himself up from the couch and drug himself to the shower. There, he scrubbed his body down with even more thoroughness than normal, but when he emerged from the shower and returned to the living room dressed only in his pajama pants, he felt inordinately relieved that the smell of the woman no longer permeated his senses. He took another drink of his scotch and allowed himself to dwell in the relief of that, even as his mind wandered.

In the last four years, Remington could count on one hand the number of women that he'd allowed liberties such as he had tonight: Millicent, the buxom cheerleader from the Bachelor case; Eloise, the gorgeous, brunette stock broker he'd dated a time or two while Laura was freezing him out after Cannes; Margaret, the temptress and murderer they'd had the misfortune of crossing paths with in Malta; Anna; and, of course, Clarissa, the hooker he'd attempted to marry in a desperate attempt to remain in the United States.

Eloise and Margaret, he could admit to himself, were both attempts to soothe his wounded pride, and in some measure, to flare Laura's jealousy in a failed attempt to get her to abort her commitment to end them, personally. Both attempts had failed, miserably. Laura was jealous, yes, even angry, but neither had swayed her to change her mind. As for himself, he'd been unable to 'close the deal' so to speak. Margaret, of course, ended naturally when she'd been identified as a murderer. But Eloise had been more difficult. She was a wonderful woman, but the fact of the matter remained, she wasn't Laura. When he'd taken her home the evening after their double date with Laura and Bill at L'Orange, she'd made it clear that she'd like to engage in an interlude. Reluctantly, he'd bid her a final goodbye, realizing that no matter how angry he was with Laura, how wounded he was by her even, that to engage in a tryst would still feel like he was cheating on her. Besides, any woman but she would be nothing but a poor substitute.

His encounter with Millicent had been a direct result of another of Laura's poorly executed plans. When bachelors began dropping like flies, she's insisted that he carry through with his evening with Millicent, thus allowing himself to be used as bait in a trap. Millicent had kissed him thoroughly that night, and while at first he'd responded quite naturally, it had not taken but a second for thoughts of Laura to flash through his mind and he'd extricated himself rapidly from Millicent's embrace. The whole charade, of course, nearly came at too high of a cost when the woman had deceivingly told Laura he'd asked her to spend the night. Despite his desperate and truthful pleas of innocence in the matter, Laura had frozen him out for two weeks solid.

Clarissa. He let out a puff of air as he thought of his almost wife. He'd paid dearly for that disaster, and rightfully so. For weeks he'd been left to believe that his foolishness with the woman in his desperate attempts to remain in the country might actually cost him Laura, once and for all. It had been his decision to involve Clarissa in the first place, that had prompted Laura's flirtation with Roselli. He'd stood by and watched, believing each slashing wound delivered during her flirtations was his penance for what he'd done. He'd not let go of that guilt, and, indeed, carried it with him as a reminder of how his failure to trust Laura could have cost him all that he held most dear.

Anna. Anna had come close to destroying them, and had, in fact, been a large part of why Laura ended their personal relationship in Cannes. His past and present had collided with her miraculous resurrection. He'd injured Laura deeply, and to this day, whenever a fleeting thought of that time in his life passed through his mind, the wounded look in Laura's eyes during those days still haunted him. He never wanted to see that look in her eyes again.

Yet, there was one thing all of those women had in common: not a one of them had swayed him from his commitment to Laura and in making a reality of all they were meant to be to one another. While his body might have stirred, his heart never let go of the woman sleeping in the room behind him, making it utterly impossible for him to do anything but deny his body in the hopes that she'd finally claim him for herself.

And she had, that day as they'd sailed across the Aegean in Greece. After nearly four years of changing who he was, what he was, waiting her out, she'd finally, at last, claimed him as her own. It was the most poignant moment of his life. Even throughout his lonely childhood, when he'd longed for a family to call his own, he'd not needed someone as badly as he had needed her to lay ownership of him. The moment that she had, a peace he'd never known before settled over him, because he knew, at last, he was home. To be wanted by the one person in your life that you cared about beyond anything else was… humbling. Every day since that day on the Sea, he'd found utter joy in the fact that he was hers, and she'd unashamedly made that known.

That she'd tossed him to the wolves in this gambit with Astrid made him feel… he struggled to find the word. It was as though Laura had rescinded her claim to him, or at the very least had modified it to include the phrase 'except when it comes to business.' There it was in a nutshell. 'Business before pleasure.' Laura's mantra since they'd met. He'd hoped that she'd finally realized that not only were the two unable to be fully separated, but that the latter held far more importance than the former. To know that she still considered the former to be more important than the latter left him… desolate. Yes, that was the word… desolate.

 _Guilty and desolate. A rather deadly cocktail for one man's soul_ , he thought to himself as he took his now empty glass to the kitchen to clean it out.

For the first time since returning home from London more than a year before, he climbed into bed next to Laura not with a thrill of anticipation or with utter joy at the thought she was there, waiting for him to gather her near, but instead with a great deal of reluctance. Stretching out on his back, he never once reached for her, instead, slinging an arm over his eyes, he willed sleep to come.

* * *

Laura had woken up at the sound of the front door quietly closing. She'd been unable to fall into a restful, deep sleep, as thoughts of pink dahlias and photographs had danced around even in her dreams. When she'd heard him come home, she given a little sigh of relief, yearning for the solace she found in his arms. She'd been left confused when he'd returned to the living room after showering, and now, as he lay beside her making no attempt to take her in his arms, she felt – ridiculously, in her opinion – wounded. For more than a year now, he'd sought out immediate, physical contact whenever he climbed into bed next to her. That he hadn't now?

She convinced herself that maybe he was afraid of waking her. Thus, she turned over and 'found' him in her 'sleep'. She tried to ignore that he seemed almost reluctant to wrap his arm around her as she settled her head into his chest, in that spot that seemed made for her and her alone. Instead, she found comfort in his soft sigh, and the fact that the arm, when it did wrap around her, seemed to cling a little more tightly than normal. Only then was she able to sink deeply into sleep, dreams of dahlias and photographs vanquished.

(TBC)


	9. Chapter 7: Uncertainty

Chapter 7: Uncertainty

 _Monday, September 29, 1986_

When the alarm went off at six o'clock, Laura groaned her discontent. That Remington hadn't even stirred enough to complain about the voices of Bud Tyler and Norman Austin parading about in his dreams, spoke of how tired he was. Normally, after all, he would get in a solid gripe or two before burying his head under his pillow in protest. This morning, however, as she slapped at the snooze alarm, the only sign he'd even heard the alarm was when he instinctively pulled her tighter to him when she moved slightly away. Closing her eyes again – a rarity for her, as usually she bounded out of bed as soon as the alarm sounded – she let herself enjoy the warmth of his body wrapped around hers.

Whatever it was that had been bothering him when he came in the night before had apparently not followed him into his sleep. When Laura rhythmically stroked his forearm with her hand, even as he slept he nuzzled his chin against the top of her head. With a nip at her lip with her teeth and a coy little smile, she wiggled slightly away from him, putting space between their bodies. His body followed hers until she was again held tightly to him. This drew a small laugh from her as she recalled that on more than one occasion in the past months, she'd found herself almost clinging to the side of the bed, as he'd followed her throughout the night. Of course, she couldn't deny that she had the same habit of searching him out as well when she slept.

When the alarm went off for the second time, she regretfully turned it off, then shimmied herself out of his embrace to stand beside the bed. This time he did wake enough to voice his complaint with a loud groan, before pushing himself up on his arms, preparing to follow her from bed. Stepping to him, Laura caressed his cheek with her hand.

"Get some sleep, Rem," she told him soothingly. Voicing a soft moan of appreciation, he collapsed on his stomach, then issued a happy rumble from deep in his throat as her fingers brushed over his back before she leaned down to buss the back of his head. She turned in the bathroom doorway, looking wistfully back at the bed, before shaking it off and closing the door to get ready for work.

* * *

"Good morning, Mildred," Laura trilled with a smile to their trusted secretary and investigator-in-training as she walked through the Agency door.

"Well, aren't you awfully spry this morning?" Mildred smiled. "A good weekend I take it?"

Laura perched herself on the corner of the desk. "We found a house," she confided.

"Good for you! I've gotta say, I was beginning to wonder if you two kids would ever find something."

"So were we, Mildred, so were we. But it was worth the wait. The house is perfect! We made the official offer right after touring. Hopefully Meredith will let us know sometime today."

A thought suddenly occurred to Mildred and she gave Laura a perplexed look. "Where's the Boss anyway? This is the first time in I don't know how long that the two of you haven't come in together."

"Uh, sleeping in," Laura answered. "He's had a couple of very late nights working the Covington case."

"Has he made any headway?" Mildred asked, curiosity piqued.

"I really don't know. We haven't had much chance to talk about it. I've been asleep when he comes in…" Laura trailed off, the partial truth eating at her. She _had_ been asleep both nights, but the day prior when she'd brought up the case, he'd veered her away from the topic as quickly as possible. What had he said to her the day before? 'Ah, and therein lies your answer,' or something similar. What he had he meant by that? She resisted the urge to give a huff of irritation, instead, turning her focus to a more pressing matter. "Mildred, I need you to put that computer of yours and telephone skills to good use for me this morning."

"Sure, hon. What do you have in mind?" she asked eagerly.

"First, I need you to find out if Wally is still in the psychiatric hospital. Then…"

"What's going on, Miss Holt?"

Laura pursed her lips, trying to decide how much to tell her. With a slight shrug, she admitted to herself that Mildred had never betrayed a confidence once she was sworn to secrecy. "I need your word, Mildred, that what I tell you stays between you and I. I don't want Mr. Steele… distracted… unnecessarily. I need him fully focused on the Covington case.

"I don't like the sound of this, Miss Holt," she answered, frowning disapprovingly. "But you have my word. Now give."

Laura stood and paced briefly, before crossing her arms around herself and rubbing her hands up and down them. "There have been a few odd… occurrences… the last two days," she said, selecting her words carefully.

Mildred leaned forward in her chair, her frown deepening. "What kind of 'odd occurrences' exactly?"

"A flower showing up on my car after I ran at the beach on Saturday. Another showing up in front of our apartment door Saturday night." She exhaled heavily with frustration. "Then last night, another flower… and a picture."

"What _kind_ of picture?" Mildred asked suspiciously.

"Of Mr. Steele dancing with Astrid Covington," she admitted.

"Oh, Miss Holt, I don't like the sound of this. I think we should tell…" she stopped speaking when Laura held up a hand and shook her head adamantly.

"Fact checks first, Mildred. I don't want to alarm him if there's nothing to be concerned about."

"Are you forgetting what happened the last time you didn't fill him in on your suspicions?" Mildred reminded her. "I certainly haven't. The Boss was beside himself…"

"Which is _exactly_ why I don't want him to worry unless there's something to worry about," Laura interrupted emphatically. " _Facts first_."

"Alright," Mildred relented grudgingly. "And after I confirm the whereabouts of Wally?"

"Florists. Contact every florist in LA and determine if they sell pink dahlias and, if so, if they've recently sold any. Names, descriptions."

"You don't want me to check on the usual suspects? DesCoines, Lydon…" Mildred queried.

"Already done. I came in last night and ruled them all out." Mildred set down her pen and shot a dubious stare at Laura.

"You came in… on a Sunday night… but are telling me you don't think there's anything to worry about yet? Not buying it, Miss Holt."

"Curious, Mildred," Laura answered breezily, as she walked to her office, "Just curious. Let me know what you find out."

Closing her office door behind her, Laura plopped her hat down on the corner of the desk before sinking down in her chair and considering the files scattered across her desk. A dozen and a half closed cases, contracts, skip and asset traces, by her count. Another dozen of the same, still open, demanding attention. A wicked little gleam suddenly lit her eyes, and stacking the closed files in her arms, she stood and walked into Remington's office, where she summarily dumped all the files on his desk before strutting out his office back to her own. With a satisfied little smirk, she took her seat again. _Eighteen down, twelve to go,_ she laughed to herself. Opening the first of the skip traces, she settled herself in for the morning.

She only looked up from the second of the files an hour later when Mildred knocked briefly then entered her office bearing a cup of coffee. Laura flashed her a grateful smile, leaning back in her chair to take a sip as Mildred sat in a chair across from her.

"Jarvis just confirmed that Wally is still safely ensconced under lock and key at New Horizon's," she told Laura without preamble.

The younger woman nodded, not at all surprised. It had been a reach in the first place, as Wally was more inclined to send gifts with cards bearing flowery sentiments. "Well it seems, at least for now, the identity of the flower bearing mystery person remains just that: a mystery," she commented with a slight shrug. "And the florists?"

"I just started on those. I've come up with bupkis so far," Mildred told her as she rose from the chair. "But I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Thanks, Mildred," Laura replied with genuine gratitude, returning her focus to the file in front of her as her office door snicked close.

She remained immersed in the files until her door opened again shortly before noon. A smile of pure pleasure ghosted across her lips as she looked up to find Remington closing the door behind him, before striding over to her chair to lean down and brush a kiss across her cheek. Her fingers brushed his jaw and trailed down his neck as he pressed his lips under her ear and then whispered against it.

"Good morning, Miss Holt."

Her teeth tipped at her lower lip, as she looked up at him through her lashes. "Good morning, Mr. Steele," she hummed, then tilting her chair forward as he stood, couldn't help teasing him, "…although barely."

Stretching out in the chair across from her, he carelessly propped his feet up on the corner of her desk, as his eyes twinkled at her. "Mmmmm," he hummed his agreement, "I'm afraid my wife insisted I sleep in this morning."

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, with a trace of laugher in her voice, as she leaned back in her chair again, toying with her pen.

"I am. So much so, that I was thinking I might steal you away for a bit of lunch?" he asked hopefully, drawing another laugh from her.

"Nothing doing, buster. I think half a day is more than enough. Besides," she said, giving him a sidelong glance, "I seem to recall the matter of a small wager."

"Lauuuraaa," he cajoled, saying her name with a touch of the music of Ireland dancing through it, which he knew she was seldom immune to, especially when accompanied by intense, blue eyes beseeching her at the same time. "We've barely had any time at all together the last two days. Surely, the files can wait for another hour or so."

"It's the or so that worries me," she told him, then tapped her finger against her lips while thinking. She was nearly helpless to resist her husband when he sincerely expressed a need to spend some time together, especially when she was in need of the same. Pushing herself up out of her chair, she rounded the desk then waited until he took his feet off her desk so that she could slide into his lap.

"I tell you what," she told him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and toying with the hair at his collar, "Make it a working lunch…" she touched her lips against his "… You, me, your office…" her lips trailed along his jaw, as his eyes closed and his hand tangled in her hair "…and you've got yourself a deal." Her lips returned to his. She allowed them to linger there to convey how much she needed time alone with him as well.

Remington took the kiss to a whole new level. Palms cupping her cheeks, he teasingly traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. When she opened to him, his tongue swirled against hers before he plundered, the kiss holding a tinge of desperate desire that left her both gasping when his lips left hers, and befuddled by the emotion the kiss had conveyed. Taking his face in her hands, she studied him closely, then drew him back so their lips could join again. This time, it was she that controlled the kiss and she instilled it with a tenderness, gentleness that had him humming against her lips.

"Tacos or Chinese?" he murmured against her lips before his ability to think completely departed.

"Your choice," she told him, getting to her feet. "Let me get together what I'll need while you order and I'll join you in a minute."

Remington hummed his agreement then journeyed to his office. A glance at his desk elicited a low groan of discontent from his throat.

"Apparently you need to be reminded, Miss Holt, that the outcome of our bet is still under protest," he called to her in mock outrage.

"And I believe I told you that you have no grounds for a formal protest," she called back to him from her office.

"You violated the rules of sportsmanship," he disagreed vociferously.

"We hadn't laid any ground rules," she reminded him as she entered the room. "And I hardly believe anyone would find me expressing my affection for my husband as unsportsmanlike."

Remington gave a huff of mock outrage. "They might, if they knew how you assaulted your husband's person in the middle of his swing!"

"I didn't assault you," she answered in an amused voice, "I merely couldn't resist caressing that very sexy bum of yours, displayed in all its glory in those pants during your swing." With a mischievous grin, she volleyed the ball back into his court. "I should also point out, that I neither chose your wardrobe nor can be held responsible your mounting… frustration… as you tried to slice your ball out of that sand trap."

Laura curled up in the corner of the couch with her files, while Remington stretched out in the opposite corner, propping his feet on the coffee table with a file on his lap. He looked at her, appalled.

"Wardrobe aside, Mrs. Steele, it would seem to me that your continual… attentions… were directly responsible for my 'mounting frustration' as you call it."

"Surely, Mr. Steele, you're not saying that you having so little control over your… reactions… is in any way my fault," she mused. Remington's blue eyes settled on her.

"When a mere look from you can set my entire being ablaze… as you are all too aware? You knew perfectly well what you were doing," he protested. "Had it not been for your antics, I would've easily won by at least a dozen strokes."

"It seems to me I… _gave_ … you at least a dozen strokes," she teased, adding a sultry layer to her voice while purposefully running her eyes down his long frame. Remington glanced at her, then sat up slightly straighter with a grin as he realized the game afoot.

"Lauraaaa," he warned, "Remember… paybacks. And I already owe you for the games in which you engaged on the golf course."

"Seems I have quite a bit to look forward to this week, then," she said, flashing him an anticipatory smile. "First, the rarity of watching you slog through paperwork, and now, waiting to see exactly what plans you have in mind." His smiled widened as he shot her a salacious look on raised brow. "Speaking of which, how is our plan for Astrid Covington working out so far? Are you meeting up with her this evening again?"

Remington's smile faded at her mention of the woman. "She's… enamored… with Reggie's social standing as well as the service he provides to people. I imagine she'll be requesting my services any day now." In a moment of perverse peevishness, he asked her to pass him the phone. At the arch of her questioning brow, he provided, "Reggie's been in San Francisco today, working on finalizing a sale. I told her I'd call and make plans for this evening."

Laura nodded her understanding. "Then by all means, call her. Most women don't appreciate being called late in the afternoon for an evening date." A smile played on her lips as she remembered precisely such an example from their own past.

* * *

 _ **"You and me on, on, on a date?"**_

 _ **"Boggles the mind, doesn't it?"**_

 _ **"Sounds wonderful."**_

 _ **"It will be wonderful."**_

 _ **"And just when can I expect all this wonderfulness to happen?"**_

 _ **"Actually, I was thinking about tonight."**_

 _ **"Tonight."**_

 _ **"I don't think there is a moment to lose."**_

 _ **"It's five forty-five. You wait until five forty-five on a**_

 _ **Friday night to ask  me out. Let me guess, Sheila has the mumps ..."**_

 _ **"Laura ..."**_

 _ **"...Susan got hit by a car. Mary, measles. Doris, diphtheria."**_

 _ **"Gayle, croup. What difference does it make so long as you're free."**_

 _ **"Oh, what in the world makes you think that I'm free? It's**_

 _ **Friday**_ _ **night…**_ _ **Friday night**_ _ **!"**_

* * *

She watched as Remington punched a series of numbers into the key pad of the phone and lifted it to his ear. Leaning back into the couch, he propped his feet on the coffee table once more.

"Astrid? It's Reggie… Yes, yes, it's a delight to hear your voice as well…" he told her, infusing his voice with seductive warmth, while stealing a furtive glance at Laura who had carefully blanked her face during his discussion "Mmmmm, without a hitch. Both parties thoroughly satisfied and myself, of course, enjoying a tidy commission. I should be wrapping everything up within the hour. What say I take an afternoon flight back and you and I have a little celebration at the Club this evening?..." His eyes darted towards his wife, whose pen was hovering over a file, giving the appearance that she was working, but the furrow of her brow said otherwise. "Tomorrow? Completely free at the moment… Tennis at 10? I suppose that could be arranged if I might entice you into a picnic after. I know a wonderful park that will afford us considerable privacy… It's a date then… Eight o'clock this evening then?... I'll be counting the minutes as well," he answered, fighting the urge to grimace. Smacking his lips together, he hung up the receiver then handed the phone back to Laura. "I'm sure you got the gist of the conversation."

"I did," she confirmed, setting the phone back down on the table next to her. "Your… abilities with the ladies… appears to be fully intact," she commented lightly, in complete antithesis to the feelings that had blindsided her listening to him flirt with the other woman.

"Merely perpetuating the ruse you conceived of," he answered casually.

"Quite effectively it appears. I imagine she'll be taking you into her confidence and asking your assistance in plenty of time for us to meet our deadline," she noted.

"One can only hope. It's difficult setting a timeline for… finessing… a mark, such as it were." Laura looked at him askance.

"Are you saying I made a mistake with the timeline I promised Mr. Covington?" she inquired, irritation seeping into her voice.

While neither would admit it to the other, both were thoroughly relieved when Mildred knocked on the door, then entered to bring them their lunches that had been delivered. Taking one look at Remington's aloof countenance and Laura's frown, she hustled her way out of the room as quickly at her legs would carry her.

Without a word, Remington handed Laura her tray of food, then opened his own, taking a generous bite of his taco before laying the file he'd been reading through in front of him to review further. Mimicking him, she did the same. Except for a few questions about a file he was reading through, lunch was eaten in silence. Two-thirds of the way through their meal, she tossed down her fork in frustration and sat back on the couch to consider him.

"This is _ridiculous_ ," she said, emphasizing the last word. "What exactly are we fighting about, Remington?"

He turned his head to look at her. "I hadn't realized we are," he prevaricated, flashing her a toothy smile. She scrutinized him carefully, taking in the shuttered look in his eyes, and realizing he'd shut her out as effectively as if he'd closed and locked the door between their two offices.

"Rem…" Her voice held a soft plea that he talk to her.

"Leave it alone, Laura," he said more sharply than he intended. Stroking his hand through his hair, he closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its edge, turning more towards weariness. "We're fine. Nothing to worry about," he tried to assure her, then inwardly cringed when he saw her chin tip up slightly in response to his words.

"Alright, I guess I'll have to take your word on that." Standing, she threw her still mostly filled carton of food into the trash then returned to gather up her files from the couch. "I've got some calls to make." On those words, she left his office, quietly closing their shared door behind her.

Remington watched her as she left, never once glancing back. Dropping the pen he'd had in hand, he leaned back against the couch and scrubbed at his face with both hands. There was no doubt she was both hurt and angered by his refusal to talk. _But how do I talk to her when she simply won't listen?_ he wondered to himself.

* * *

Laura, doing what Laura does best when upset, buried herself in her work. By six o'clock, she'd completed three relatively uncomplicated skip traces through a simple check of credit header indices. Setting those files aside to add to Remington's pile, she returned to one of the first case files she'd perused: a birthmother attempting to locate the daughter she'd placed for adoption at birth, in order to impart some important medical information to the girl. The Agency didn't take on many cases involving adoptions as the nature of the closed files in most states made the process long and thus cost prohibitive to potential clients. They would, however, make an exception for adoptions that took place in Texas and California as both states had established birth registries, which allowed them to find the name of the child post-adoption, relatively painlessly. Given the child in question, now a young woman in her early-twenties, was born in Texas, they'd taken on this particular case. Lifting the receiver on her telephone, Laura dialed the number of their contact in Texas. Five minutes later, she hung up with the assurance that they'd have the name by week's end.

No sooner than she'd hung up did the buzzer on the intercom sound.

"Yes, Mildred."

"Your realtor is on line one, Miss Holt," Mildred informed her. A wide smile graced Laura's face at her words.

"Give me two minutes and put her through to Mr. Steele's office," she directed, already standing.

"No can do, Miss Holt. The Boss left thirty minutes ago." Laura glanced at her watch, and gave a small huff of frustration.

"Can you let Meredith know Mr. Steele has left on business and ask her to call back tomorrow morning when we should be together?"

"Will do. And Miss Holt, I've gotta get going myself. The Dragon Ladies have our last practice tonight for the big championship tournament on Wednesday night."

"Alright. Well, have a good night, Mildred. I think I'll stick around a little while longer and see if I can wrap anything else up." Disconnecting their call, Laura leaned back in her chair with a frown.

"He left," she murmured aloud to herself, feeling suddenly bereft. In all the years of their association, she could count on one hand how many times Remington had left the office without saying goodbye, and all of those were when he was most injured or angry. At least during those times, however, she'd known why. Yes, she knew he was angry about the Covington case. But she didn't know the why of that anger. She had only that vague comment of 'therein lies the answer,' and what exactly did _that_ mean? It was just as clear that he had no intention of clarifying the remark for her as it was that he was retreating into himself in this regard.

Opening the next file on her desk, she found herself fervently wishing that it was last Thursday, when they were still blissfully happy.


	10. Chapter 8: Reclamation

Chapter 8: Reclamation

Laura packed up to leave the office at 7:30. She'd considered, briefly, leaving the office so that she could make it home in time to say goodbye to Remington before he left for the evening, but the furtive way he'd left the office made it more than apparent he was hoping to avoid her, for whatever reason. So she'd stayed, and worked, until she was certain he would be gone by the time she arrived home. Then, she'd be able to nurse her aching heart alone. No confrontations. No chances to soothe fettered nerves. No reprieves. Just the ache.

With a sigh, she crossed the reception area, stopping cold and simply staring at Mildred's desk. Setting her purse and briefcase down, she reached out a hesitant hand to pick up the pink dahlia and envelope that lay there. A quick glance at her watch showed Mildred had left an hour and a half before. Moving behind the desk, she sat down heavily in the chair. In the last ninety minutes, whoever it was – and she was sure now that it was a single individual – had come into the office and she'd never heard, never suspected a thing. No sixth sense that someone was in the reception area, no hairs standing on the back of her neck… nothing.

After spending a few minutes questioning if she was losing her edge, she stood and gathered back up her purse and briefcase. Locking the Agency doors behind her, she rode the elevator to the lobby to seek out Ralph, the trusted building security guard that should be on duty that evening. Spying him behind the lobby desk, she approached him briskly, her heels tapping across the marble floors.

"Ralph, I was wondering if I might ask you a favor?" she said without preamble. Ralph skittered to his feet.

"What can I do for you, Miss Holt?" he inquired, as he attempted to suck in his considerable girth to present, in his mind, a more professional image.

"Would you mind walking me to my car?" While loathe to admit it, the fact that someone had been wandering around in their offices while she was there and had no clue it was happening, had left her shaken. Since her radar was clearly off this evening, it seemed wise to make sure she didn't traverse the parking lot alone.

"Of course, Miss Holt. Let me just radio George to let him know I'm leaving the desk."

Giving him a brief nod, she turned and leaned her backside against the desk while staring out the glass lobby doors into the night, her eyes tried to make out anyone remotely familiar to her as stragglers leaving worked passed under the sidewalk and parking lot lights. While she recognized a couple of people – an attorney from the fifteenth floor, an accountant from the 23rd – not a single alarm bell sounded.

"If you're ready, Miss Holt?" Ralph asked, stepping up next to her.

"Yes, of course." Ralph held open the door for Laura, allowing her to exit before him, then stepped back into stride with her.

"Is everything okay, Miss Holt?" Laura glanced at him, then returned to surveilling the area around them with alert eyes.

"Ralph, did you see anyone… unusual… enter the building this evening? Someone that doesn't work there? That doesn't, maybe, come into the building frequently."

Ralph shook his head. "No ma'am. Just the regulars. Why are you asking?"

Her eyes flicked closed then open again as she gave her head a short, hard shake. Carefully blanking her expression and pasting on a smile, she prevaricated. "No particular reason. Just curious. I thought I saw someone outside that seemed vaguely familiar but couldn't put my finger on who they were. That's all."

When they reached the Rabbit, Laura opened the door and casually peered over the backseat before tossing her purse, briefcase, flower and the envelope into the passenger seat. Closing the door, she rolled down her window.

"Thanks, Ralph. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night."

"Have a good night, Miss Holt," he returned, with a slight incline of his head.

Laura backed the Rabbit out of its parking spot, and with a brief wave to Ralph, pointed the Rabbit towards home.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled the Rabbit into her reserved spot in the Rossmore's garage. She hesitated before getting out of the car, a frisson of uneasiness crawling up her spine. Turning in her seat, she looked out the side and rear windows, but saw nothing or no one out of the ordinary. _You're losing it, Holt_ , she told herself. Tipping up her chin, she grabbed her belongings and climbed out of the Rabbit, striding swiftly across the garage to the elevator. When she heaved a sigh of relief as the elevator doors slid shut, she found her annoyance with herself only growing. When the doors opened on the fifth floor, she exited the elevator, keys in hand, shutting the door to their flat firmly behind her and locking the door once she was ensconced inside.

Dropping her purse and briefcase on the entryway table, she tossed the envelope and flower on the coffee table before going to the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of wine. Taking a couple of long draws on the cool, sweet Chenin Blanc, she topped off her glass before adjourning to the living room. Curling up in a corner of the couch, she took a quick peek at the offending flower and envelope before averting her eyes.

She'd never admitted to anyone – especially Remington – how deeply Wally's stalking had affected her. She'd made it a point, after that first night, to pretend it was over and forgotten. But it hadn't been, not by a long shot.

Wally had almost killed Remington. _Because of me,_ she reminded herself now. _Eliminate the competition, as though that would have made me turn to another man._ When the call had come in that night that Remington had been injured, her heart had sunk to her Wally had admitted that it was he whom had rigged the elevator, she'd felt… sucker punched, by the guilt that washed over her like a tidal wave. Then, on the heels of learning about the attempt on Remington's life at the hands of her secret admirer, another blow: Zwiegenhoff telling her that someone had been killed at Remington's apartment but refusing to reveal who that someone was. The fear that she'd never see those twinkling blue eyes, lit with humor; would never feel the gentle caress of his lips over hers; would never inhale his scent that brought solace to her heart and an overwhelming feeling of contentment… It had buckled her at the knees.

For weeks, she'd had nightmares about Remington's life ending that night. The caller informing her not that he'd been injured, but had been killed in the fall down the elevator shaft; of fleeing to his apartment after Zwiegenhoff's questioning was complete, only to find out he'd been Dancer's final victim. She'd wake, quaking violently, desperately trying to ward off the panic attack she could feel lurking right around the corner.

Her greatest fear had come true. She'd been in love with Remington for longer than she could remember, but had managed – at least most of the time – to keep those feelings boxed up, under tight control. Since they'd immersed themselves in each other… in them… after he'd returned with her from London, she'd been less and less able to corral those feelings. Instead, they'd continued to grow, hour-by-hour, day-by-day. She never wanted to love someone to the depth and breadth that she did her gentle and loving Irishman. But she did, once unwillingly, and by the time Wally and Dancer had tried to eliminate his presence in her life, completely willingly.

It had taken her weeks after their altercation at the Spa to admit the truth to herself. She'd known from the outset that she had been cruel to him, intentionally, spitting out venomous words that were wholly untrue just to wound, to shove him away. So much easier to lose him by her own actions, than to have him taken… or so she'd believed. Yet, when she seen the angst, the betrayal, the depth of the harm she'd done to him, she'd been immediately contrite. Almost too late, but, still, immediately.

* * *

" _ **You feel compelled to dominate me physically because deep down, you're intimidated by any woman who has half a brain!"**_

 _ **"You don't know the meaning of the word!"**_

" _ **Well, go on, get out! I was better off without you anyway!"**_

* * *

She cringed, remembering each vile statement… every untrue word. While he'd only verbalized his commitment to her when they'd returned from London, in truth, she'd known he'd been committed to her for years. How could she not be, when he lay with his head on her lap and all but proclaimed it to be during the Peppler case? Even without those words, the mere fact that he'd stayed, day-after-day, week-after-week, year-after-year was proof of his commitment to her.

And as for the first? Remington had never once attempted to dominate her, physically or otherwise. To the contrary, he'd always taken great pride in her intelligence, her resourcefulness, her creativity, her independence. To this day, she still had no idea where _that_ little gem had come from, other than the knowledge that to accuse him of such misogyny would draw a little blood.

But it was those last words that had done the greatest harm and had been the only wholly truthful words she'd spoken during that fight. She _had_ been better off without him. Before he'd arrived in her life, she'd learned to live completely independently of anyone else. Laura Holt was her own person. She needed no one else. She relied on no one else. There were people whose absence in her life would be sorely missed, but no single individual who absence in her life would send her back to that place in which she'd dwelled after her father, Wilson, had abandoned her. Remington had been that to her since long before he'd disappeared into the misty night after she'd thought to leave him for another man. By the time Wally and Dancer had arrived on their doorstep then made their merry way into custody, he'd become so much more.

She realized after that fateful night that losing Remington would bring her entire world crumbling down around her. He was her partner, her best friend, her lover-to-be and, quite simply, the love of her life. There was not a corner of her life in which he was not permanently etched: work, play, home. He was the first thing she thought about each morning when she woke, the last thing she thought about in the moments before sleep. He was the man that welcomingly haunted her dreams.

Dancer and Wally had nearly taken him from her, and in doing so would have taken everything she most valued – not that she'd ever admitted as much to Remington, or even to herself most of the time.

So, yes, she had been better off without him, for the mere fact that she didn't know how she would move on from day-to-day any longer without him there. It was a truth she continued to struggle with to this day.

Even more insidious was how Wally had shaken her faith in herself and her abilities; perhaps even others' faith in her abilities. He'd been watching her for months. Had been taking pictures of her, in her apartment, for months. Not a single hair had stood on end. Not a single time did she feel a shimmer go up her spine. Even while a camera had whirred away, she'd been completely oblivious. Even Wally's eager anticipation each time she opened a gift from her secret admirer had not sent alarm bells peeling… Even his declaration of love had gone unheard.

The pictures. _My God, the pictures_ , she thought to herself now. _How many are still out there… somewhere? How many showing me in less a state of dress than the ones he'd hung on his wall? I thought nothing about walking across my apartment wearing not a stitch of clothing before he came along._

The thought made her queasy.

For weeks on end, she'd been unable to sleep restfully, always listening, always looking, always wondering. It was only on the weekends that Remington slept at her loft with her or she at his place with him that she could sleep soundly, knowing that someone watching, someone waiting, wouldn't escape _his_ notice. As much faith as he put in those little hairs on the back of her neck, she'd never pretended, at least to herself, that he didn't possess the superior skills in that department. She suspected his radar was acquired while he lived on the streets as a child, always having to be prepared for someone to come up behind him meaning harm. Wherever they came from, however, she trusted them, and in those weeks after, trusted those instincts to warn them if anything lurked nearby.

Now, it seemed to be happening again… and so close on the heels of the last time. Four flowers in three days. Two mysterious envelopes in two days. She idly wondered if the offerings would continue to increase incrementally across time. Two today, three tomorrow, five two weeks from now. She shuddered at even the thought of whatever this was continuing on for that duration of time.

Tipping back her glass of wine, she finished its contents, then set the empty glass on the coffee table. Steeling herself, she picked up the envelope and slid a finger under the flap, opening it. She was wholly unprepared for the contents of the envelope, and felt as though someone had squeezed the breath straight out of her lungs. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest and she closed her eyes.

 _Business, Laura, it's just business,_ she reminded herself, then repeated the phrase several times like a mantra, until the vise eased away from her heart. _Business, business, business, business, business._ Collecting herself, she forced herself to look at the pictures in her hand.

The first was of Remington kissing Astrid, presumably in front of her house. The second was similar to the first except in this one, Astrid's hand was caressing her husband's bottom, while her lips scorched a path across his neck. Slowly lowering the pictures to the couch cushion, she stood returning only when she had a healthy portion of scotch on the rocks in her hand. Taking a drink, she set the tumbler on the side table, before forcing herself to return to the pictures.

Business or not, seeing Remington in another woman's arms… stung. But that was not what had pain barreling through her like a freight train. It was those things nobody but she would pick up on. The way the fingers on the back of Astrid's neck were retracted as Remington kissed her; the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched. Picking up the second, she glanced at the expression on his face again and dropped the picture as though it had scalded her.

Picking up her tumbler of scotch, she carried it with her into the bedroom. Grabbing Remington's shirt from where he'd laid it out to take the dry cleaners in the morning, she fished a fresh pair of underwear from her dresser drawer then made a beeline for the shower. Finishing off her scotch before climbing under the near scalding water, she showered in record time. Grabbing a pillow and afghan from the closet, then plucking the third picture from out of the drawer in the nightstand. She ensconced herself on the couch in front of the television after fixing herself another drink.

She had no idea what movie droned away on the television, but lost herself in her thoughts. Emotions waged a war within her before settling once and for all into the safest of those emotions: Anger.

* * *

For the first time in three nights, Remington drove home feeling… relieved. He'd been using himself as a whipping post most of the afternoon and evening for the way he'd walked out on Laura today without so much as a goodbye. Yes, he was angry with her. Yes, he was plagued by guilt. Yes, he'd known how she'd feel by such an obvious brush-off. Yes, he'd done it anyway, being a petulant prig.

… And had been able to think of little else since.

Dinner with Astrid had gone well. Actually, success was drawing near based on their conversation tonight. She'd asked if he might know of a buyer for a trio of emerald and diamond pieces. When he'd told her he was flying to Vegas on Wednesday to meet with a client who appreciated unique jewelry, she'd offered to show him the pieces the following evening if he'd dine with her at her home that evening. He'd quite charmingly, even if he did say so himself, offered to cook her dinner himself. Hopefully, by the end of the evening tomorrow night, this fiasco would finally be finished.

He'd felt so good about the progress, that he had no qualms about begging off early in the evening, claiming exhaustion from the late hours they'd kept the evening before, combined with the early flight and the rigors of travel and meetings. In exchange for the reprieve, he'd tossed in a suggestion that they breakfast together before their tennis match the next day. Astrid had forgiven his early departure readily, and he'd endured her heady goodnight kiss with little remorse.

It was, after all, almost over.

Now, however, he owed his wife an apology for his behavior earlier in the day. If only he could figure out how to do so, without them traipsing back into the territory that had made him strike out in the first place.

* * *

Laura stood in the kitchen with her back tucked into the corner created by two of the counters meeting, nursing a scotch and water over ice. She heard when the front door closed and Remington called out to her. She stayed where she was, sipping her drink, never calling out to him, knowing he would find her eventually. Sure enough, he poked his head into the kitchen, his eyebrow quirking upwards at seeing the drink in her hand. He could count on one hand the number of times she had imbibed without his company.

"There you are. Didn't you hear me calling for you?" he smiled as he leaned in to kiss her hello, only to find himself planting his lips in her hair as she turned her head to avoid him.

Her intentional evasion of his kiss left him flummoxed and, he found, surprisingly irritated. He had thought the days of her intentionally disengaging from him for some imagined – alright, occasionally real – misstep were in the past. He took two steps back from her and leaned casually against the island, shoving his hands in his pockets. His sharp eyes perused her face and body, summing up what he read there. He sighed briefly when he found her skin pinked, her shoulders taunt and her eyes avoiding his – all sure signs that she was about to blow. Clearly, his snubbing her this afternoon had gotten under her skin as he'd intended and she'd been stewing on it ever since.

He didn't have to wait long for the explosion, as she slammed her glass of scotch on the counter then turned to stalk indignantly from the kitchen. He followed, grabbing her upper arm just as they entered the living room. She turned to face him, and he saw the stark hurt in her eyes before she covered it an instant later with a blank look, shutting him out even as he reeled in confusion.

"Laura, what's going on? What's this all about?" He watched as her walls went up even further and her chin tipped upwards in that way she had when she was determined to hide from him. Her eyes held with his, and seeing the confusion reflected in their blue depths, her shoulders slumped before she looked away with a small shake of her head.

"Isn't that the question I should be asking you?" she asked, suddenly weary. She easily shook her arm away from his grip, and walked several steps away before wrapping her arms around herself, seeking self-comfort. His heart ached at the sight and the words that followed. "You come home in the middle of the night, then sit out here," she tilted her head towards the couch, "thinking I don't know you're home. When you finally came to bed last night, you could barely touch me. You've been shutting me out for days…" her voice trailed off.

"Laura…" It was the only word he could manage before he stopped speaking, swiping his hand across his face and averting his eyes from her as the now all too familiar feelings of guilt and desolation assailed him. He could only watch as she picked several pieces of paper up off of the coffee table before she returned to him, handing them to him.

"And then there's these…"

Remington looked down at the papers she handed him. Photographs. He skimmed through them quickly, appalled by what he saw.

Him dancing with Astrid at White Oak Country Club.

Him kissing Astrid in front of her home.

Astrid, her hand roaming across his bottom, her lips firmly attached to his neck.

His hands tremored slightly at the sight of his guilt memorialized in black and white, right there in front of him. He lifted sad, guilt ridden eyes to her.

"Laura…" The single word held a plea for understanding. With a shake of her head, she sank, exhausted, down onto the couch behind her. She looked up at him, her walls shattered, her brown eyes reflecting a hurt so deep that it nearly staggered him.

"I think we need to talk, Remington."

Remington crossed the room to sit on the coffee table across from her, his hand reaching out to touch hers before he withdrew it and stood to pace the room. Rubbing his hand across his face several times, he held up the pictures towards her.

"Laura, I know how it looks," he offered, his eyes and voice both holding a plea that she believe him. "But I swear to you, I'm not having an affair with that woman."

"Give me at least some credit," she told him, with a flash of annoyance sparking in her eyes. "I may not know what's going on with you, but the one thing I do know is that you're no more having an affair than I am."

Profound relief crossed his face for a split second before the strained, distant look of the last two days returned. Getting back on her feet Laura wandered over to stare at their wedding picture hanging next to their bedroom. After several long seconds passed as Remington watched her with trepidation, she whirled around to face him.

"Damn it, Remington! I thought we were past all of this – you shutting me out! What's wrong? Why won't you talk to me?"

"I have! I have tried to speak with you," he answered, his voice shaking with both frustration and anger, as he flung the photos onto the coffee table. "But _you_? You wouldn't listen!" Rarely did he allow his temper to take hold of him. She could only remember a few times when he'd yelled – really yelled – at her. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she looked at him.

"You're angry with me," she commented, stunned, wrapping her arms around herself again and rubbing them.

"Well, yes. Yes, I am, if you must know. You thought the days of us shutting each out were over? Well I bloody well thought the days where Laura Holt says decides wholly on her own how things are going to be were over. No give, to take, just a decision, no matter the cost of it. I foolishly believed, it seems, that at least where it involved us, our marriage…" he swept his arm at the apartment, "… this… we'd at least have an equal voice. Yet, you've made it patently clear that's not the case!"

Laura walked over to the coffee table and picked up the photographs he'd tossed back down. Forcing her own emotions back, she held them out.

"This is business, not personal."

"No, Laura. No, it's not. You bloody well have me dating that woman. This is not me using a little charm, a brief dance, some empty words of flattery to cajole a suspect or distract them. There are certain… intimacies," he motioned towards the pictures, "expected, demanded even. Most women are not content sharing a few kisses for years on end. They expect… want… more, and aren't afraid to show it!"

She blanched at his words as they found the mark she believed he'd intended to hit.

"That's not fair," she choked out, lifting a shaking hand to her chest, as though he'd physically struck a blow.

"That's not what I meant!" he protested. "Have you any idea…" he began, then stopped when his voice chafed raw. Rubbing his hand hard across his face, he dropped heavily down into a chair, propping his chin in a hand, his fingers held over his mouth.

Laura crossed the room to him, sitting down on the coffee table to face him.

"Rem, _talk_ to me," she pleaded. He lifted angst filled eyes to hers, then dropped his head, propping his forehead in his hands and looking at the floor with a shake of his head. She looked at the pictures in her hands, then spoke quietly. "Do you know what I see when I look at these pictures?" She blinked her eyes rapidly before continuing, her voice growing husky with emotion. "My husband, tense, off-balance. But he won't talk to me, tell me why." He lifted his head to look at her, anxiety painted across his face. "What's going on in that head of yours?" she asked, brushing her fingers against his hand, pleading with him with her eyes.

He stood abruptly and began to pace.

"You say this is business?" He stopped in front of her and held up the picture of Astrid caressing him. "This is nothing _but_ personal. How does it make you feel, to see the woman's hands, her mouth on me?" Dropping the photo back down on the coffee table, he began to pace again. "I come home at night tasting of her, smelling of her, knowing you'll be able to do the same." He paused to stroke fingers through his hair. "I damn well feel like I'm cheating on you every time I'm with her and wonder every time I am just how long it will be until your insecurities flare to life and I'm made to pay again!"

"Remington…" Laura tried to speak, only for him to hold up a hand.

"No. You wanted to know. Well there's part of it, at least." He swiped a hand through his hair again. "Four years, Laura. Four damned years I remained faithful to you because _I didn't want anyone else_. Yet how many times did you believe, accuse me even, of betraying you, _us_? How many times did I have to _hear_ that line of yours – 'You're a grown man, I'm a grown woman'? How many times did you freeze me out for an imagined slight? Felicia, Millicent, Joelle, Shannon, Clarissa. Who've I forgotten? Yet not once – not once – had I done what I was found guilty of." He rubbed a hand across his face, as his chest rose and fell rapidly. "It was bad enough then, but now? Now, I'm actually doing what you've accused me of, time and time again."

" _It's not the same thing_ ," she cried out.

"You're right. It's _worse_. Now, I've a wife at home that I adore to the point of distraction, that I've waited for four bloody years to claim me as her own and she's finally done it! And every, single time I kiss that woman, I flirt with her, she touches me, I am breaking the promise I made to my wife in Greece."

"Remington, just listen to…" she tried again, only to be cut off once more.

"Tell me, Laura, just tell me _this_ ," he demanded. "How would you feel if the roles were reversed and I'd asked you to play the seductress? How would you feel every time a man kissed you, fondled you, asked you to go to bed with him?" he asked wearily. His anger petering out, he slowly dropped down to sit in front of the fireplace, his hand rubbing slowly over his face, watching her.

Crossing her arms and rubbing them again, it was Laura that paced now as Remington remained silent. She tried to picture herself in the same situation. She remembered how she felt when Smith kissed and groped her in Cannes. She had encouraged the man to prick Remington, even as she loathed every touch of the man's hands, mouth. After, she'd been overwhelmed with guilt for what she'd done to Remington, and even the waters of the Mediterranean had not been able to wash off the feeling of that man from her skin. If it had been Mr. Covington, instead of Astrid, who was the target, how would she feel? Just the mere thought made her stomach clench. Then, Remington's comment that had bothered her for days, echoed in her head – 'perhaps, therein lies the answer.'

She lifted a hand to her brow and began to worry it with her fingers. As recognition dawned of what he'd meant that day in the bath, the guilt swallowed her whole. And on the heels of that revelation came another memory: what he'd said to her in Vail. She crossed the room to sit down next to him in front of the fireplace, resting her chin on bended knee, even as her fingers continued to knead her brow.

"I would feel… tainted… I guess is as good a word as any. Guilty. Angry, at you." She exhaled a shaky breath. "But you would've never asked me to do it in the first place," she admitted honestly. Dropping her hand from her brow, she rested the side of her face on her knees and watched him.

"Why wouldn't I have?" he asked, even as he nodded his agreement.

"Because I promised you that I'm yours and yours alone. You wouldn't ask me to compromise my word… and you wouldn't be willing to share me, for any reason." Those words had not come easily to her, as with them came self-acknowledgment that she'd lost sight of the bigger pictures for a while. He nodded his head again, then threaded his fingers through his hair as he looked away from her once more.

"Have you any idea what that day on the boat meant to me, Laura? I'd been yours for years, whether you knew it or not, accepted it or not. And all that time I waited… hoping… that you'd claim me as your own, that you'd claim what we were meant to be, never quite believing you would because of…" he shook his head, stumbling over the admission "… my past… your inability to trust me because of it… that I'd never be quite enough, no matter how much I'd changed for you…" He exhaled heavily. "I can't remember ever wanting anything more. It was the most meaningful moment of my life… the person who means more to me than anyone else in my entire life ever has… actually… and then…" The thought was left unspoken, as the words simply would not come any longer. Pushing himself to his feet he mumbled, "I'm going to shower. I've an early day tomorrow." With those words, he left the room.

Laura's eyes followed him from the room as her thoughts rioted in her mind. There were times she simply… forgot… what it was about Remington that always drew her back, no matter how hard and how far she tried to run: his gentleness… his heart… but most of all, the vulnerability he kept hidden from the world at large under that veneer of charm and the devil-may-care attitude he wore like a comfortable old pair of blue jeans. She'd been the only one he'd ever allowed to see it. The only one he'd ever trusted enough not to abuse it. The fact that she had, intentionally, in the past, was something she was still trying to come to terms with, didn't know if she ever would. But this time, she'd not wounded with intent…

She'd simply not realized… or maybe, not truly understood… hadn't put together all the little pieces of the past. _Or didn't want to put it together, didn't want to believe, that he'd been trying to tell me all along how committed he was to this, to us, because it would have scared the hell out of me not too long ago,_ she admitted to herself.

But clearly, all the accusations, all the times she'd, at the very least, implied she didn't believe him when it came to other women… that she made it clear she believed he'd continued to have his flings all along… had left their mark as well.

Felicia…

* * *

 _ **"Laura, would you believe me if I said I had absolutely no idea how that woman got into my bedroom or my bathrobe?"**_

 _ **"Not a chance!"**_

* * *

She'd certainly made it clear then that she didn't believe him, going so far as to storm out of the apartment, but not before she put the heel of her shoe through his instep, leaving him hopping around while tending to the wounded foot.

Millicent…

* * *

" _ **Laura, I did not invite that woman to spend the night."**_

 _ **"Please. We have more important things to talk about."**_

 _ **"There's nothing more important than this."**_

* * *

She'd brushed him off, and his second attempt as well.

* * *

 _ **"I never invited Millicent to spend the night."**_

 _ **"We'll talk about it later."**_

* * *

She hadn't bought what she'd believed he was trying to sell at the time. In fact, when she returned to his place later that night, had heard sounds coming from his bedroom, the wind had literally been knocked out of her. Despite her cavalier words meant to imply they were both free to have their… assignations… with others if they so pleased, the idea that he was in bed with Millicent… broke her heart. There was no way around it. When she stormed into his room to find him asleep, alone, she'd been shocked, and thoroughly relieved. Still, as he'd said, she'd frozen him out for weeks.

Anna …

* * *

" _ **Ah, when I went to Anna's, ah, it was for two reasons. First, was to say that I'd sent Raymond packing and the second, the more painful, was to say that I, I felt that we, ah, didn't have a future together. She'll always be a part of my past but I ah, realized that-, that's where that relationship belonged."**_

 _ **"What made you realize that?"**_

 _ **"You... I'm not the same man I was when I walked into your life, Laura. I've changed... you changed me."**_

* * *

He'd abandoned her in thought for a time, or so it had appeared to her. That period of time had done untold damage to their relationship. It was, in fact, one of the larger reasons that she'd ended them in Cannes. The hurt had run too deep. The trust that she was slowly building in him, the belief that had been blossoming that he wouldn't leave her, abandon her, like her father, Wilson, had been demolished.

And, if she were completely honest, she'd never asked, and he'd never volunteered, but she'd believed, absolutely, he and Anna had resumed their physical relationship during that period as well. To find out during pre-marital counseling with Ioseph that he hadn't? It had left her dumbfounded.

Shannon….

* * *

 _ **"I admit the situation may appear incriminating-"**_

 _ **"Try nauseating."**_

 _ **"Laura, I can assure you that whatever happened between Shannon and me was over a long time ago. I never want to see her again."**_

* * *

She snorted softly. Remington had pulled some hair-brained schemes during his time with her, but even on his worst of days he wouldn't have tried to have a rendezvous with a former lover on the very night that they were going to finally cross that line. He'd been desperately trying to mend the harm he'd done in attempting to marry Clarissa, in not trusting Laura and coming to her when he was in trouble. There was no way he would have put them further at risk by engaging in a dalliance. But, she'd already been reeling because of Clarissa, his attempt to marry another woman, by the way the they had ended up married instead. It was simply easier to believe the worst of him.

Accused and convicted by her, time and time again, even though all the while he'd remained celibate for years, wanting her and waiting for her. The thought still stunned her, still left her in awe. She once told him, during the Dannon case, only a year into their unconventional romance…

* * *

 _ **"You know, you're rapidly becoming the man I envisioned when I created Remington Steele. Honest, courageous, caring, good humored-"**_

* * *

Her husband's little black book could rival the telephone directory for a small town – not something that she liked to dwell on for any period of time. Yet, he'd cut out all the carousing, the one night stands… had stopped indulging in the offerings made to him by the bubble headed bimbos he'd brought around in the first couple of weeks after he'd joined the Agency. And had waited, had remained… chaste… because to do otherwise would have felt like a betrayal to her in his mind. She'd learned that in Greece, yet still hadn't realized the ramifications to his psyche in what she'd asked of him.

 _What was I thinking?_ she thought, mentally flogging herself.

She'd realized over the three months since they'd first made love at Ashford Castle why he'd bordered on nearly desperate to make love to her for years. He hadn't lied, that day on the beach at the Spa: the words she'd needed to hear not coming easily to him, that he'd always relied on deeds as proof of a person's veracity.

Their physical relationship, to Remington, was sacrosanct; his way of showing her the depth of his love for her. It was there in every gentle touch against her skin; in each brush of his lips against hers, and how his lips would feather across her body; in how he'd lose his breath whenever he joined his body with hers; how he'd seek out her hands, tangle his fingers with hers in the moment before they found their release in one another; and in how, afterwards, he needed to keep her body pressed to his, as he was left thoroughly vulnerable by the overwhelming emotion that their love making wrought in him. It was in how he'd his body tremored with happiness, joy, even awe when she'd make love to him; how he'd allow himself to turn his body completely over to her and just soak up the love she'd try to convey to him, as he did to her. But most of all, it was in his eyes. In how he still looked at her in disbelief, as he moved his body within hers, as if he still couldn't believe that she was finally his, that he was truly making love with her. After years of waiting, she'd finally given herself over to what they were meant to be from the day they'd met. It was everything to him.

 _Well, Holt, you really bodged this one,_ she scolded herself.

In a moment of brutal honesty with herself, she admitted something that left her not liking herself very much at all: a part of her made the decision to use Remington as bait in part to prove to herself that their professional lives had changed not a scintilla due to their personal lives. Now, seeing how he was reeling, she realized how foolish she'd been to ever even think that was a possibility.

Standing, she went to join her husband in the bedroom.

She found him already in bed, lying on his back, with an arm slung over his eyes – much as he'd come to bed the night before. One of the hardest things… and best things… about living together, she'd learned over the last months, was that there was no way to hide, as was their habit in years past when they'd injured one another.

Closing her eyes, she said small prayer that she'd find the words to right things for him, for them. She pondered for a moment, then decided the more contact the better. It was touch that drew him out, touch that healed. Walking over to the side of the bed on which he lay, she climbed up on the bed and straddled his lap, settling herself carefully. Remington's arm moved just enough to peek at her from under his arm before he lay it back down.

"Laura," he said her name wearily, "I've got an early day ahead of me. I'm to meet Astrid for breakfast. I hope to have this wrapped up by tomorrow evening. Can we just get some sleep?"

Laura shook her head, while picking up the arm that lay at his side, and pressed her lips against his palm.

"No, you don't," she told him firmly. That caught his attention, and he dropped his arm from over his eyes to look at her, uncertain of what she was trying to tell him.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily. Leaning forward, she stroked both hands through his hair, touching her lips softly against his.

"I mean it's over, Remington." Her fingers continued to trek through his hair, as her lips moved to brush trails along a cheek, over a forehead. "You're not seeing the woman again."

He pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, taking her with him as he moved, shaking his head all the while.

"It's fine, Laura," he told her unconvincingly. "I think we'll have what we're after before the evening is done."

"It's _not_ fine," she told him succinctly, leaning back slightly to look at him better. She touched her fingertips against his cheek as she looked at his eyes. "It's not fine," she repeated on a shaky breath, her thumb stroking his cheek. Unconsciously he leaned into her hand, seeking the comfort it brought. "What this is doing to you is by no means fine. It's over," she told him again, firmly this time.

"And if we can't close the case, what then?" She dragged her fingertips down his neck, and felt some of the tension leave his body even as intense blue eyes regarded her.

"I think it's time to break out our break-in clothes, Mr. Steele." Her hands feathered across his shoulders and she felt his body tremble under hers as more of his tension eased.

"And if we come up empty handed?" he queried.

"Then we tell Covington that we've come to a dead end and we'll be unable to help him further," she answered ever so logically. Eyes that had fallen to half-mast under her touch snapped open. He leaned back and away from her, frowning. Taking her face in his hands, he regarded her at length, then shook his head in the negative.

"I'll not have the fact that I'm finding this… difficult… impact the Agency, Laura. The Agency means too much to you." Taking his hands in hers, she pressed her lips against each palm, before dropping them and weaving her fingers through his hair again. She waited to speak until his eyes met hers.

"Not as much as you do. Don't you know that by now?" Remington stared at her, dazed, somehow managing to shake his head, trying to clear it, absolutely certain he'd misunderstood. Seeing his bafflement, Laura smiled softly and continued on. "Rem, I agreed to a sham marriage to you to keep you here, even knowing that I could lose the Agency in doing so. Not too long ago, I was willing to leave the country with you, if it had come to that… walking away from the Agency, starting all over again somewhere else." She touched her lips to his then trailed them across his cheeks. He closed his eyes, his hands tangling in her hair. "Do you really not know that _you're_ what matters most to me?"

"Good God, Laura," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers as her fingers brushed over his chest. "Have you any idea how you make me feel when you say such things to me?"

"Maybe the way it makes me feel every time I think about how you spent years changing your life around just in the hope that we could have this?" she posited, just as quietly. Leaning back, she held the sides of his face in her hands once more. "You _are_ mine," she said insistently, stroking her hands across his cheeks, through his hair. "And if you thought for one second that I'd in anyway changed how I felt about that, I can't tell you how sorry I am." Keeping her eyes locked with his, she brushed her lips against his. "You are _mine_ , Rem," she kissed him again. "No one else can have you."

"Laura," he murmured, running his hand across of the back of her neck, nudging her closer, "Come here." A smile lifted the sides of her mouth before his lips settled over hers. He kissed her, deeply, yet with such gentle care that when their lips parted she was left breathless. The last of his tension left his body with a shudder. Wrapping his arms around her, he rested his chin upon her shoulder, reveling in the feel of her fingers whispering through his hair, her lips caressing his neck. "You've no idea how much I've missed this: our time together, our talks before we go to sleep… you falling asleep in my arms. It's been only a few days yet its felt like…"

"… a lifetime," she finished the thought for him, nodding against his neck. She breathed in his scent deeply, shivering a little at having him so near for the first night in too long.

"Laura, can we…" he asked, the hesitancy in his voice making her sit back to look at him. She cocked her head to the side, studying him, knowing that he wasn't asking to make love. A smile lit up her face.

"I'd like nothing more," she told him, climbing off his lap, to stretch out across the bed on her back, using his thigh as a pillow. They both cherished this nightly ritual, as it only served to strengthen the bond between them. Lifting his hand in hers, she began tracing her fingers across his palm, even as his own fingers found a strand of silken hair to toy with it.

"Rem?"

"Hmmmm?" he answered, his fingers traveling through her hair, until they found her scalp and began to massage lightly.

"Mmmmmm," she all but purred, "that feels so good." One side of his mouth quirked upwards, as he was more than aware she found the action as tantalizing as his lips grazing below her ear. She scrunched her face trying to regain the train of thought that was derailed by the fingers working magic on her head. "Meredith called the office late this afternoon."

"She did? What did she have to say?"

"I had Mildred tell her to call back in the morning. Good or bad, I wanted us to be together when we found out." His heart beat a little faster at her words.

"You did, did you?" He smiled down at her.

"Of course," she said, matter-of-fact. His hand stilled and left her hair to journey towards her cheek.

"Seems I owe an apology of my own, leaving as I did today." She stilled the path of her fingers over his palm, to lift her hand and lay it against the one on her cheek.

"I understand, now, why you did. But, I won't lie and say it didn't… sting," she admitted.

Releasing his hand, she sat up, then waited as he slid down from where he was sitting to lay on his back, holding open an arm for her. She settled herself against him, her head lying in that place at his shoulder meant only for her. As his arm wrapped around her, her hand found his side and began rhythmically stroking. She hummed contentedly, leading him to tighten the arm about her and lean down to buss the top of her head.

Suddenly, he stilled then stiffened, making her look up at him.

"I nearly forgot. Can you hand me the phone for a moment, love?" Laura shot him a questioning look, but sat up to reach for the receiver and hand it to him, as he pushed himself up to sit as well.

Remington dialed, then waited for the other party to answer.

"Astrid? It's Reggie. Forgive me for calling so late, but I've had a bit of an emergency come up…Yes, yes, I'm fine. But I'm afraid my uncle has passed rather suddenly and I must return to London immediately… Not long, a few days at most… Mmmmm, I'm disappointed as well…. Listen, I've two tickets waiting at the box office for us for La Boheme and reservations at Osteria Mozza. I'd hate to see the evening go to waste. Why don't you take a friend along and indulge?... It's my pleasure… I've no idea, but I'll certainly call you when I return… Yes, yes, you take care as well… Bye, bye now."

Handing the receiver back to Laura, Remington watched as she hung it up, a look of profound relief on his face. When she turned back around, she found two hands sliding in to her hair to grasp the back of her head and draw her lips to his.

"Thank you," he whispered against her lips, as he gently tasted, explored her mouth. Her arms encircled his shoulders, her fingers stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingers stilled when she realized stealthy fingers were slowly easing the hem of his t-shirt upwards. Her lips left his, to skim along his collarbone.

"Rem, we can't…" she murmured. She felt his nod, rather than saw it, even as she felt the shirt continue its ascent.

"I know, love. I just want to feel you against, me. If that's alright with you, of course." She sat back and drew the shirt over her head, tossing it to the end of the bed.

"Always," she answered, then found her lips under his, as he gathered her in his arms and sank back down on the bed again, drawing him with her. They both sighed with contentment when she settled in against him. She nestled the side of her face into his shoulder, her hand gripping his ribs.

"I've missed you, Rem. I've missed this," she confessed quietly. His hand found her hand, tangling their fingers together.

"Myself, as well. You've no idea how much." He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. "I've can't recall how I managed a sound night's sleep before, without you… here… with me." Her fingers slid from his ribs to his chest. Flattening her palm over his heart, she found comfort in its familiar rhythm, letting it lull her.

"Me either," she admitted, in the moment before she fell to sleep.

Gathering her closer, Remington buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar, soul-soothing scent, allowing the peace he always found when she lay sleeping in his arms to gently settle sleep over him as well.


	11. Chapter 9: A More Wonderful Life

Chapter 9: A More Wonderful Life

 _Tuesday, September 30, 1986_

Tuesday found peace restored both in the Steele household and at the Agency. The couple had arrived together, laughing as they entered the Agency doors, leading Mildred to give them an assessing look. Remington and Laura had indulged in a little tag on the freeway, she driving the Rabbit, he the Auburn. He'd won their little race… this time. He'd neatly zipped around a car entering the freeway from the on ramp, while she'd had to hit her brakes, hard, to keep from colliding with the Sunday driver. A slew of creative cuss words had been spoken under her breath, knowing that Remington had just wrapped up the race.

Mildred grinned ear-to-ear as the couple greeted her. She knew the Boss arriving with Miss Holt was a good omen. But it was the looks that passed between the two that left her humming to herself when they departed for their separate offices. Clearly, they'd worked out whatever the issue was between them, which meant a good day lay ahead.

Laura waited behind closed door for several minutes, to assure herself Remington would be safely ensconced behind his desk, paper opened, cup of tea near at hand, then buzzed Mildred on the intercom. Two minutes later, Mildred slid into her office, a cup of coffee in hand for each of them. Sitting down across from Laura, Mildred looked at her speculatively.

"You've cleared our schedules for tomorrow, right?" Laura got straight to the point. Weeks ago she'd declared that there were to be no appointments made for the following day, and Mildred had inadvertently scheduled a couple of new clients in a momentary lapse of memory.

"All clear. One rescheduled to Tuesday morning, the other to Tuesday afternoon." Mildred sent Laura a conspiratorial smile.

"Reservations made at Chez Rive?" Checking the list in front of her, Laura gave a small frown.

"Seven sharp. How are you going to sneak away from the Boss to get packed up?" Mildred asked out of curiosity.

"Monroe's going to page him at 8:30, claiming a breach in the security system at one of the stores," she grinned smugly. Remington wouldn't be able to resist the ruse, given it was he that installed said systems and he would see such an event as personal affront to his skills. She regarded Mildred thoughtfully. "You're sure Mr. Steele hasn't planned something similar for us?" Mildred shook her head adamantly.

"Not a word to me about it, and you know I'd have a hand in setting things up if he did." Laura smiled widely at the answer.

"Perfect. Now remember, I'll be out of the office for a while this morning in order to 'meet with the accountant.'" Laura made air brackets with her fingers, to emphasize the so-called appointment was little more than a ruse.

"The Boss definitely won't want to tag along for that. Good call, Miss Holt."

"Now, on a more serious note… anything on those dahlias yet?" Laura leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers together as her conscience niggled at her. Remington hadn't asked where the pictures had come from and she hadn't volunteered any information. She wanted answers to the questions she knew he'd asked, so she could put his mind to ease as quickly as possible.

"So far, two florists that have sold a single dahlia: one to a woman in her mid-forties, the other to a teenaged boy. I still have another couple of dozen more to contact."

"Stay on that, if you don't mind. The sooner I can figure out what their meaning is, the better." Mildred nodded her agreement.

"Have you changed your mind about telling the Boss?" Laura grimaced slightly at the question, knowing Mildred would start nagging her, if she didn't tell Remington soon.

"Not yet. I want to have something to tell him before I fill him in. And in order to have something to tell him…" She pointed a pencil in Mildred's direction.

"Get back to making calls, right." Mildred stood up and moved to the door, then paused before opening. "Miss Holt, far be it from me to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong, but the Boss won't be happy if he finds out…"

"He won't," Laura interrupted, "unless someone tells him." She looked at Mildred pointedly.

"I won't tell him, but if he asks, I won't lie to him." Laura pursed her lips, her irritation clear, but nodded her head in agreement.

"Fair enough. Those calls?" Mildred shot Laura a frown of her own at the younger woman ushering her out of the office, then opened the door and left the room.

Laura gathered up the files from her desk. Neither she nor Remington had appointments with clients today as Laura had intentionally cleared their schedules for the next week. She had several skip traces to close up and balance sheets to go over, before she cleared out of the office for six days. Remington had one security installation to wrap up, and if all went well that should be complete this afternoon as well. She was smiling widely when she entered his office and crossed the room to sit on the couch without preamble.

Remington peeked at her over the top of his paper. With a smile, he folded it in two, in order to raise a brow in her direction. "Hiding out, Miss Holt?"

"Not at all. There's not a single appointment on the books, so I thought I'd enjoy my husband's company while going over the balance sheets."

Remington sat up a little straighter. "Not a single appointment, you say?" His mind began ticking off any number of ways they could enjoy the day together.

"No appointments doesn't mean we don't have any commitments," she pointed out. "I have to meet with the accountant this afternoon, and _you_ , Mr. Steele, have to wrap up that security installation."

He gave a disappointed grunt. "Surely both could be put off a day or two, don't you think?" Standing, he crossed the room to where she sat, sweeping her up in his arms, then dropping down to the couch with her in his lap. Picking up her hand, he suckled on the pulse point at her wrist, a smug little look crossing his face as he watched her fingers contract. His lips continued to journey up her arm, as a hand stroked her hip. "Perhaps make up for some of our time lost this weekend?" His hand slid up to skim across the sensitive skin at her waist, even as his lips found the responsive skin of her inner elbow. "A day at the beach? A reenactment of _Splendor in the Grass_ at McCullum Park? An afternoon on the pier at Venice Beach?"

Laura wriggled off of his lap, laughing at his acute look of disappointment. "Me – accountant; You, Mr. Steele – security installation." Her smiled only widened as he looked prepared to go into a full blown sulk. "I tell you what," she pretended to relent, as she teasingly ran a finger down his front from neck to stomach, "If you wrap up the security installation, we'll not only leave early today and make up for some of that lost time, but…" She paused long enough to reel him in. When Remington lifted an eager pair of brows towards her, she knew she had him in the palm of her hand. "I promise to more than make it up to you tonight."

"You do, do you?" He leaned in closer, his eyes focusing on her lips.

"I do." Threading her fingers through his hair, she drew his lips down to meet hers. She kissed him hungrily, almost voraciously, drawing a soft hum from his throat. Releasing him, she gave him a smug little smile.

"Proud of yourself are you?" He gave her an amused look, then wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, urging her towards him. This time, he took charge of the kiss, alternately teasing then plundering. She felt his shoulders shake with laughter when it was she that hummed her pleasure this time. They groaned in unison when the intercom buzzed.

Laura giggled with mirth at the creative string of words uttered under his breath, as he stood to answer the page. Stabbing his finger at the intercom button, he said with no little annoyance, "What is it Mildred?"

"Your realtor is one line one."

Smiling wide, Laura quickly moved to join him, laughing when he sat in his chair then yanked her down into his lap. Depressing the button for line one, he picked up the receiver and held it between their ears.

"Meredith, good of you to call. Laura's here with me. What news do you have for us?"

"Outstanding news, actually. The sellers have agreed to full asking and have asked that the closing be moved from sixty days to thirty as they already have purchased another home and are eager to move on."

Remington and Laura exchanged almost giddy smiles. "So, we could be in the house by Halloween?" Laura asked.

"They'd like to set a closing date of October 30th, so yes. You'd be in by Halloween." Meredith remained quietly for several long seconds. "So, do I tell them they've sold their house?"

Remington glanced at Laura, and seeing the utter joy on her face, didn't even need to ask. "You do. When should we come by to sign the contract?"

"Could the two of you meet me at the office at four? You'll need to bring verification of funding from your lender."

"No need for that. We'll be paying for the house with cash." He tapped his finger against his lips at Laura's look of surprise.

"Four then?"

Remington glanced again at Laura who nodded that the time would work for her. "Yes, we'll see you then. We appreciate your help on this, Meredith."

"Believe me, it was my pleasure. I'm glad we could finally find you exactly what you were looking for. I'll see you this afternoon."

Remington hung up the phone, then turned his head to grin at Laura. "Seems we've bought our first home together, Mrs. Steele." She ran her fingers through his hair.

"It does seem that way, doesn't it? But cash, Remington?" He gave a careless shrug in answer.

"Why worry ourselves with monthly mortgage payments when we needn't do so. We've far more than sufficient funds to cover the purchase of our home."

"You mean _you_ do." She was still adjusting to the idea that he was independently wealthy, a fact she'd only learned of a few months before. There were times when she found it down right… intimidating… to glance at their checkbook register and see six digits before the decimal point. While the Agency had been running in the black for more than three years now, the memory of the many lean years before that time period had not been left behind.

"I mean _we_ do. Our savings account, alone, could buy the house five times over." It amused him to no end that she had not quite… adjusted… to the fact that they were, in fact, quite comfortable. _Wait for it, Steele. Three, two, one…_

" _What_ savings account?" She'd just absorbed the words he'd spoken, and was looking at him as though he'd grown a second head.

"The account I added your name to after we returned from our honeymoon." Her eyes shifted towards the ceiling, as she searched her memory for any conversation regarding a savings account. _You know she'll have to ask, old sport. Wait for it. Three, two, one…_ Her brows furrowed into a small frown.

"Are there any other financial windfalls my name is suddenly attached to that I'm unaware of, Mr. Steele?" Remington laughed lightly at her consternation.

"Quite a few, I imagine." Admittedly, he took great pleasure, teasing her as he was. He'd told her clearly in London that what was his was now theirs, but as unassuming as she was, she'd paid little attention to the ' _ours'_ portion of that conversation. _You know there's at least two more coming, mate. Wait for it. Three, two, one…_

"How? I don't recall signing anything other than the signature card for our checking account." _Ah, there it is._

"Caribbean and European banks are much more forgiving in that regard. As for our savings account here? I seem to recall a certain young woman signing _two_ cards that day at the bank, did she not?"

She tapped her lips with a finger, while going back over that day in her memory. They'd been home only two days from their honeymoon when he, almost literally, dragged her away from the office for a quick trip to the bank. She'd been distracted, worried they wouldn't make it back in time for their one-thirty appointment, and, frankly, a bit annoyed that he'd interrupted the middle of their work day. When the bank manager had handed her the cards, she'd only glanced briefly at their two names listed, irritated that her name read 'Laura Holt.' She'd asked the bank manager to correct the cards to read Laura Steele, then had hurriedly scrawled her signature across them, before standing and pulling on Remington's arm, forcing him to take abrupt leave so that they would be back to the office in time.

"I did sign two cards," she acknowledged. "But I thought those were both for the checking account."

"Failing to pay attention to the little details again, Mrs. Steele?" She gave him a disgruntled harrumph, then grew thoughtful again, before squirming against his lap in discomfort. _Ahhhh, yes, there it is. Three, two, one…_ She sighed, almost irritably.

"Do I even want to know what's in that account? I'm having a hard enough time looking at the checking account and believing that's real."

Remington depressed the button on the intercom.

"What can I do for you, Boss?" Mildred called through the intercom.

"Mildred, be a dear and bring Miss Holt our personal savings account statement from last month, would you?"

"Sure thing, Boss. I'll be right there."

Laura fidgeted nervously on his lap, and thought about distracting herself by distracting him, when the door to his office opened and Mildred sauntered in, file in hand. Handing it to Remington, she took in the cozy scene before her and with a knowing little smile directed towards them, turned and left the room. Laura shook her head with resignation: Mildred simply could not help but make it known how happy she was that her kids were together.

Remington extracted the latest statement and handed it to Laura. Scanning the paper quickly, she found the balance, and her stomach rolled. He laughed aloud at the queasy look on her face.

"Laura, you may be the only person alive that finds being financially… comfortable… a reason to feel ill." Unable to help himself, he nuzzled her neck with his cheek, then trailed his lips up the alabaster column. A shiver passed through her body at his ministrations and a hand clutched at the back of his head. The paper in her hand fluttered to his desk, as she arched her neck back to allow him more access. He hummed with pleasure, then chuckled lightly at her gasp when his tongue laved that spot below her ear. He adored the fact that she was putty in his hands.

"Oh God… Rem…" She nudged his head away from her neck then sighed contentedly when his lips found hers, whispering across them before settling in.

Both jumped like two teenagers caught necking when they heard his office door open. "Intercom, Mildred," they both ground out at the same time, then winced jointly at their harmonic commentary.

Mildred had the good grace to look embarrassed even as a smile played on her lips. "Sorry." The apology lacked sincerity but rang with amusement. "Miss Holt, I have the information on that… skip trace… you asked me for… When you have time that is." She looked knowingly at the couple drawing a pair of rolled eyes in her direction.

"That file's in my office." Laura moved to get off Remington's lap, only to find his hands clutching her hips, keeping her in place. She wriggled from his lap, dodging determined hands, laughing. Once she made it to her feet she bent down and lay her lips next to his ear. "I'll make it up to you… tonight… I promise."

He grunted his disappointment, then hummed in recognition of her words, but could only watch as she left his office, closing her door behind her.

Laura settled in behind her desk and waited for Mildred to take her seat before speaking. "Did you find something?"

"Two more purchases of a single pink dahlia. Once again, all by different people: a college-aged young woman and another teenaged boy. Then, at the last shop I spoke with, a dozen sold last night. The clerk that was on duty and would have sold them is off for the next five days – vacation."

"A dozen? Well, we can't assume they're meant for me, but if they are, it doesn't look whoever this is plans to stop anytime soon. If more flowers appear, then our best bet seems to be waiting on the clerk to return next week, and we hope that she had a description of someone recognizable to us." With a brisk nod of her head, Laura stood and picked up her purse off the desk. "I'll be back in a while. Remember, if Mr. Steele asks, I'm at the accountant's."

"Don't you worry about a thing, Miss Holt. I'll handle the Boss," Mildred assured her.

Laura stalled as she took the four steps to her office door to turn and look towards Remington's office. The urge to go in and say goodbye was overwhelming, but a part of her brain was reminding her that he'd likely do his best to tempt into a little tete-a-tete before she left and who knew where that would lead? They were both still sorely feeling the effects of too little time together over the weekend and yesterday. It would be far too easy to succumb… _Alright, alright lure him_ into locking his office doors and having her way with him. As… mouth-watering… as the idea was her errands, and the side benefits of those errands, were far too important.

With a final look at his door, she slid out of her office and slipped away from the Agency, leaving him none the wiser.

* * *

Two hours later, Remington closed the final file with a great deal of relief. Grumbling lightly under his breath about how bets were not legitimately won when a certain woman used her feminine wiles to distract to do so, he gathered up the stack of files to return them to Laura in her office. Shoving open their joint door, his eyes perused the interior of her office, surprised to not find his lovely wife within their walls. A quick glance, as he dropped the files on her desk, confirmed her purse was not in its customary place on the corner of her desk. Swinging open her office door, he strolled across the office, leaning his weight on one arm against Mildred's desk. Mildred looked up at him with a knowing smile.

"Would you, perchance, know where Miss Holt's taken herself off to, Mildred?" Remington raised his brow at her, well aware that Mildred knew exactly where that was and that the secretary had conspired with his wife so that she could leave unnoticed.

"Accountant." Her one word answer was accompanied by a self-satisfied little smile.

"Any particular reason she left without stopping in to see me first?" His suspicions were fully aroused and he was more than a bit put out. Knowing that Mildred had aided and abetted his wife did not sooth his irritation in the least.

"I believe you were proving to be a… distraction," she answered giving him another look that all but said, _We both know what you had on your mind today, don't we, Boss?_ He gave her a frown for good measure.

"Yes, well, she was proving to be a distraction in her own right," he defended himself, before turning on heel and walking towards the Agency doors. "Tell Miss Holt I'll be completing the security installation and will meet her at Meredith's at four." Without preamble, he pushed his way through the Agency doors and left, to the sound of Mildred's laughter following him.

 _Three months,_ he thought to himself, _and I still haven't figured out how to get my wife to stay where last I left her._ Shoving a hand in his pocket, he pressed the elevator button. _Well, old sport, you always admired her independence and here's what it gets you._ He laughed lightly. It appeared his wife would continue to be a challenge the rest of their lives.

The very thought of that brightened his day, considerably. After all, he was a man that loved a challenge.

* * *

Laura exited La Perla with a wholly self-satisfied smile lighting her face. _Rem's not going to know what hit him_ , she laughed softly to himself. _I may not be able to walk for a week afterwards, but oh, it will be worth it._

She'd spent the last hour and a half shopping – stunning enough as she loathed the task – in the exclusive lingerie shop in anticipation of the trip she'd planned for she and Remington. She'd finally settled on three little ensembles, each completely different from one another, but all guaranteed to make her husband's pulse race. Because she was inclined to sleep in his pajama top most nights, or in one of his dress shirts when she was seeking comfort, closeness, the few times she'd dressed in some racy lingerie for him, he'd all but fallen to his knees in thanking the stars above. Her own pulse raced in anticipation now, just thinking of his reaction, knowing that whenever she wore them there would be a night of torrid love making to follow.

One little number, however, was reserved for tripping the light fantastic in a location must closer to home. Having already done the fan dance for her Mr. Steele, it was time to make another of his fantasies come true.

Laura was smiling widely and walked with a pep in her step back to the Rabbit, humming prettily to herself, oblivious to the several people who paused to stare at the attractive young woman who was fairly radiating with joy. Her thoughts wandered to the two-piece swim suit she'd also picked up at La Perla – a rather racy little red number that would not only provide optimal skin exposure for tanning but would also stir her husband's blood. _You did good, Holt,_ she patted herself on her back. _Two stops left to go and you should still make it to Meredith's in plenty of time to meet Remington._

Her splendid mood came to an abrupt halt, along with her step. Frozen in place, she stared at the Rabbit, alarm and frustration warring within her.

She'd taken care to make sure the top to the Rabbit was up and the doors of the car were locked before she'd headed down the street to shop. Now, she stared at the flower and envelope secured to her windshield by a wiper. Shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she scanned the street on all sides, trying to identify anyone familiar. Nothing; not even so much as a twinkle of recognition. In utter frustration she yanked the flower and envelope out from under the wiper, then tossed the flower to the ground before climbing into the car. Dropping her bag and purse onto the passenger seat, she turned on the car letting the air conditioning blast before ripping open the envelope none too neatly.

Two more pictures. The first of Remington handing Astrid into the Auburn, and the second of Remington brushing his lips across Astrid's knuckles while sitting at a table. She lifted a hand to her brow and scrubbed vigorously.

It was apparent that both she and Remington were being followed. As far as she knew, he was not receiving any mysterious pictures or gifts. Every picture sent to her so far suggested that the photographer believed they'd snapped a picture of Remington in a compromising position. Were there two people following them? She found that thought almost more comforting than the idea of another stalker.

Given the frequency at which she was receiving these little gifts, she knew she would have to tell Remington sooner or later. It had already been four days, and if he found out about the little offerings by happenstance he'd be… She searched her mind fruitlessly for the best adjective, as infuriated wouldn't even begin to cover it. Yet, no matter the word, it would not be pretty.

 _When we come home from our trip,_ she decidedly definitively. _We deserve to enjoy tonight, our vacation, to not have it overcast by whatever this is. As soon as we get back, I'll tell him. Besides,_ she justified, _there will be no more deliveries while we're away. I only have to make it another 40 hours._

* * *

The signing of the contracts for the house went off without a hitch, and Remington and Laura found themselves with nearly four hours to twiddle away before they made their way to Astrid Covington's house under the cloak of darkness. Once Remington's well-paid contact at Osteria Mozza called the flat and confirmed Astrid and companion had arrived, the Steele's would depart. One way or the other, their involvement in the Covington case would end tomorrow morning – an appointment set by Laura herself, so all their business would be wrapped before their departure. What lingering skip and asset traces had to be done could be conducted by Mildred and Laura or Remington would review her findings when they returned home.

For now, however, the early evening was all theirs, and Laura had no trouble discerning, by the gleam in his eyes, how Remington would prefer to spend that time. Not that she didn't agree with the idea. For a couple that indulged daily in one another, often multiple times, they'd now been in dry dock for nearly four full days. Her body and heart were humming with the need to be close to him, to have her body joined with his. But neither of them needed that kind of distraction to follow them into their evening forays.

Instead, feigning being tired from the several late nights she'd tried to wait up for him, she suggested that they stretch out and take nap together, especially in light of the fact they had another late night on the way. He seemed inclined to argue, until she looked him over thoroughly from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He straightened slightly, shifting on his feet, immediately realizing she had something on her mind.

"Pull down the covers and strip down, sweetheart. I'll be right back." She spoke in a tender voice, feathering her fingertips down both sides of his jaw, then neck, before stepping away from him and disappearing into the bathroom. A shimmer passed through his body. His brain and heart went to mush whenever she called him by the endearment, and when that endearment was accompanied by her touch? He was utterly powerless, would find a way to give her the world if asked. Now, there was only one thing to do. Easing the comforter and sheet to the end of the bed, he stripped down to his briefs.

Remington nearly swallowed his tongue whole, and his heart rate doubled when Laura emerged from the bathroom wearing only a scant pair of panties, carrying a bottle of lotion. He tried not to groan aloud when a very impertinent part of him came to life, attempting to salute the woman before him. He had a short, firm discussion with his nether region, reminding it that little good would come of its attentiveness. Still, a small groan of disappointment escaped his throat as he took in every one of her delicious freckles, temptingly on display, and the sheer perfection of her petite form.

Little vixen that she was, Laura smiled at his reaction to the sight of her, then laughed aloud at his much louder groan of discontent when she plucked his shirt from the floor and shrugged into it. He found at least a little comfort in the fact that she left the shirt unbuttoned, providing his imagination much food for fodder.

Stepping up to the side of the bed, she stroked her fingers down his cheek and along his jaw.

"Turn over, sweetheart."

This time, Remington gave a small hum of pleasure. Flipping over onto his stomach, he waited for her to climb up on the bed, then settle her bottom on his. After laying the bottle of lotion on the bed, she skimmed her fingers through his hair, then began to massage his scalp.

He lost himself in the touch of her fingers. Wiggling his bottom beneath her, he settled in more comfortably.

This was something else new to their marriage: Laura seeking to provide him exquisite, comforting care, for no other reason than she could. If her calling him 'sweetheart' turned his heart and brain to mush, this left his entire being quivering. After the first time she'd done this for him in Cannes, from time-to-time for several weeks after, he'd tried to recall a single other instance when someone had chosen to take care of him for no other reason than they simply wanted to. Outside of his time spent with the Androkus family, he could think of no one. Certainly, no one in his adult life. Most of the women with which he'd dallied had little interest in him other than testing the rumors of his skill between the sheets. Of the few remaining, he was little more than a challenge: to see if they could succeed where all others had failed by getting him to commit to them.

Once he'd made that realization, he made a second: Even if someone had made such an attempt, he would have scurried away from it. Of all those that passed through his life, it was only the woman soothing her fingers through his hair right now, that he would have trusted enough to turn himself entirely over to her hands to do with as she pleased.

"Mmmm," he hummed quietly. "You keep doing things such as this, I may have to marry you, Miss Holt." His voice was gruff with emotion even as he teased her. Her hands left his hair, leaving him feeling surprisingly bereft. He shifted under her, his body telling her without words that he wanted her hands to return. She laughed softly above him.

"I believe you already have married me, Mr. Steele. A couple of times, as a matter of fact." Opening the bottle of lotion, she poured a generous portion into a palm, then warmed it between her hands before brushing her hands across his shoulders. He shifted beneath her again with a contented sigh.

"Ah, now that you mention it, Mrs. Steele, I believe I have. Smartest thing I've ever done, at that." Helplessly, he hummed again, as her fingers soothed muscles he was not even aware had been tight, until he felt the tension release under her gentle ministrations. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against the back of his neck.

"You sweet talker, you. Keep that up, I may have to keep you around another fifty years or so." Adding more lotion to her hands, she brushed her hands down his spine, then began to massage his lower back.

"Kanis tin zoi mou pio omorfi," he mumbled in answer. Her hands stilled, then with a small laugh, continued to caress.

"Changing languages on me, Rem?" She'd begun to suspect, given his fluidity in Gaelic, that there was a wealth of secrets she had yet to discover about her husband. Over the last months, she begun to decipher the words he'd often whispered to her when they made love or in those quiet moments right before sleep swept her away. She'd come to realize that while attempts to say "I love you" in English still tied his tongue into knots except for rare occasions of extreme emotion, that he could say the words with ease in his native tongue – 'Is tú mo ghrá' or the more heart stopping 'Is tú mo shíorghrá'. There were still many words and phrases said that she had not translated, but figured she had the rest of their lives to do so. But now, it seemed something had drawn him to toss a new language into the mix.

"Perhaps," he murmured, his voice growing drowsy, the words coming slower.

"Greek, by chance?" She smiled, as her hands ran over his sides, feeling his breathing deepen under her hands. She loved being able to do this for him, to him. As much as he enjoyed taking care of her, when she would allow him, she, too, enjoyed caring for him.

"Perhaps," he mumbled with effort.

Setting the bottle of lotion on the bedside table, she carefully moved herself off him, then reached for the alarm clock, setting it for 7:30. She'd barely stretched out on the bed, drawing the covers up and over them, before he turned and gathered her to him, spooning his body around hers. She placed her hand over the one he had wrapped around her waist, her thumb stroking his wedding band as she tried decipher what he'd said to her.

'Zoi mou' was engraved in their wedding bands. 'My life.' But with only those two phrases engraved into their wedding bands at her disposal, she couldn't decipher the rest of what he'd said.

"You make my life more wonderful," Remington breathed quietly against the top of her head, before nuzzling his cheek against her hair. Laura's fingers weaved through his, and she drew his hand up so that she could press her lips against his palm. She felt thoroughly ridiculous when she the tingle of tears threatened behind her eyes. Tucking their joined hands between her breasts, she snuggled more tightly against her husband's body. Eventually she followed him into sleep.

* * *

 _ **As a heartfelt thanks for all the kind words in the reviews and the personal messages sent to me, an extra two chapters this week. Thank you for continuing to inspire, all of you. - RS**_


	12. Chapter 10: How to Make Love in A Auburn

**_Contains NC-17 content. If not comfortable or under 18 - skip – skip – skip – to chapter 11._**

 ** _For those of you who have asked for this time come about - you know who you are ..._**

* * *

Chapter 10: How to Make Love in An Auburn

Remington woke to a small hand stroking his face, and a pair of lips lying next to his ear, warming it as Laura gently roused him.

"Rem, it's 8:00. We should be hearing from your contact soon. I made us a couple of sandwiches. Get dressed, then come eat." An arm stealthily snaked around her waist, and with a solid tug, tumbled her into bed with him. Even as she laughed with mirth, he rolled himself over until he lay stretched out over top of her. His lips found hers with deadly accuracy, and teased and taunted with a tenderness that left her sinking her fingers into the flesh of his shoulders. A hand stroked down her side and over a hip, before his lips stilled and he raised up on an elbow to look down on her.

"Awwwwww," he voiced his complaint, finding her fully dressed in her break-in clothes already. She laughed and playfully darted her fingers through his hair, before ruffing it.

"Get dressed, big guy. I promise, I'll make up for it. And the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can do exactly that." His brows darted upwards at her words and his eyes held an anticipatory gleam. Suddenly inspired, he gave her another quick kiss and rolled off of her to go dress amid her laughter.

A short hour later, Laura and Remington were darting among the shadows of Astrid Covington's backyard. With a final quick but thorough scan around them, she indicated to her partner that the coast was clear for him to pick the lock that would gain them entrance to the house. Keeping her back pressed against the wall next to the door, her alert eyes kept watch for any signs of movement that would indicate a potential witness.

"What about the alarm?" she queried in an undertone.

"From what I could tell, she doesn't appear to have one. Never had to disengage it on the couple of times I brought her home." He glanced up at her from where he squatted, tools in hand, and flashed her an impertinent grin. "Not exactly wise if one has millions in jewels stashed within. You never know what scurrilous individuals might come along to relieve you of your valuables." With a gentle nudge, he pushed the door open before standing, then handed her inside the house in front of him.

Switching on their flashlights, they moved through the kitchen into the living room then dining room, check drawers, under furniture, looking behind objects on the walls, and checking shelves in search of hiding places or safes. Coming up dry, they moved upstairs. The one bedroom townhouse was luxuriously appointed but by no means overly-large, limiting the number of places in which the jewelry could be secreted. In the master suite, they finally found a safe, tucked away behind a mirror in the dressing room. Grinning at one another, Remington employed sensitive fingers and sharp hearing to crack the safe. When the latch snicked open, he handed several flat, velvet jeweler's boxes to Laura, while he himself claimed a stack to look through. She huffed out a hard breath in frustration.

"Nothing? You?" With only a glance at him she knew the answer. His dissatisfied grunt confirmed.

Taking the boxes from her, he placed them back in the safe, resecuring it, then returned the mirror to its place in front of the safe. Further searching of the closet, bedroom and bathroom revealed nothing. Seemingly foiled, they made their way back through the house to the kitchen where they had entered. There, Remington ran his hand through his hair, while casting Laura sidelong glances, the defeated look on her face fanning the fires of guilt in his gut.

"I should have just seen things through with Astrid. We'd likely have had the jewels in our hands this evening. We still could revive the ruse…"

"That's not an option. We've already decided that… together… if you recall." She waved a hand dismissively while she concentrated on the kitchen surrounding them. "Mr. Steele, did Astrid seem like the type that would, oh, enjoy baking?" She turned to him, her eyes lit bright, as she asked the question, then began quickly opening up the cupboards, glancing at their contents. The cabinets were nearly devoid of cookware, except what appeared to be a brand new set of skillets and sauce pans. Nowhere, however, did she find so much as a trace of bakeware.

"Not in the least. Her only interests seem to lay in her tan and her tennis game." He watched as she dug through the cabinets. "What exactly is on your mind, Miss Holt?"

She stood, her eyes again zeroing in on the canisters on the counter.

"Do you remember when Rueben Saltzman and Harry Cranston framed you for the theft of the diamond market below our offices?" He could see her excitement building in the way she shifted slightly from foot-to-foot and the overly animated gestures of her hands while she spoke.

"I don't think that is something I'd be likely to forget, given my arrest and how they led you to believe, however briefly, that I was a part of the entire debacle."

It was a time in their past that, for the most part, he preferred not to recall. In addition to Saltzman and Cranston framing him for the theft of the diamond market, they'd drugged him, dumped him in a hotel and made it appear he had gambled away the Agency during a drunken round of poker. The relationship he and Laura had been nurturing since his return from London, had been allowing themselves to sink into, had taken a serious blow as the evidence against him had mounted, leaving her to question if he was running a con… on her. The _only thing_ he wished to remember of that time was how, with no proof whatsoever of his innocence, she'd clung to her trust, her faith in him, then found the strength to dismiss her doubts, choosing to believe in him and what they had been building instead. That decision on her part had only drawn them closer.

"I can't help thinking about what Keyes said to me in your apartment."

 _ **"You know, completely baffled by a guy in New Orleans once, who stole some microchips. Sat down in the middle of his apartment. Got hungry. That was it."**_

"I'm not enjoying this particular traipse down memory lane, Miss Holt," he told her sardonically. "Perhaps if you'd just get to the heart of the matter?"

"The canisters, Mr. Steele," she answered, pointing to the counter while giving him a look that implied he needed to catch up and fast. "Why would a woman who clearly neither cooks nor bakes, have canisters of flour and sugar on her counter. I mean, the coffee I would understand, but…"

"Maybe we should sift through the potential evidence then, eh?" He handed Laura the sugar canister even as she rolled her eyes at his bad pun.

"Here goes nothing." Reaching into the sugar canister, she pressed through the grains, then lifted her eyes to his as a smile flourished across her face. Withdrawing her hand, she held up a baggie, containing a pair of earrings and a bracelet. She watched while Remington quickly opened his own container then dug in, a similar smile gracing his face as he extracted a baggie as well.

Laura quickly grabbed a couple of paper towels, dampened them, and cleaned up the counter, placing the canisters back in their place. She tucked the paper towels into her pocket to be disposed of later. Without a word, they slipped out of the house, relocking the door behind them, then slipped into the inky night. On fleet feet they maneuvered their way several blocks over to where they'd left the Auburn. When Remington handed her into the passenger side, she slid over to the driver's seat, holding out her hand for the keys with an impish grin on her face. Taking in the sparkle in her eyes, the flush of her skin, and elevated rate of breathing, with a wolfish grin he gladly turned the keys over to her.

"You know what's going to happen now?" he asked, as he sat down in the passenger seat, and turned to look at her.

"Oh, I suspect I have a good idea," she answered, adding a sultry layer to her voice. He raised a brow at her, even as a hand slid over her neck, clasping the back of it.

"Come here, Laura," he urged gruffly.

She allowed him to pull her near. His lips covered hers and he kissed her with an urgency fueled by adrenaline of a successful evenings work, carried out on the shadier side of the street. When she responded with equal fervor, her tongue dancing with his, he gripped the side of her face with both hands while a deep thrum of nearly desperate need rumbled from his throat. He slowed the kiss, turned it gentle, seductive. She clutched his hair in both hands and was left panting when his lips moved a mere millimeter away from hers.

"Let's go home, Mrs. Steele." He mentally gave a shrug of his shoulders at the near pleading tone of his voice. He'd begun to accept that just a glance from his wife could take him to his knees from the sheer weight of his desire. But Laura in full come-hither mode? He was held utterly captive to it, prepared to beg as she enticed him until his body was left shaking from the need to have her.

She kissed him hard and deep, even as a hand turned the key in the ignition. With a playful nip of his bottom lip, she extracted herself from his arms, and gave him a look that assured him he would, indeed, be begging before night's end.

"I have something else in mind." With that, she put the Auburn in drive and hit the gas, careening through the streets of LA.

With a grin in her direction, Remington decided to up the ante of whatever it was Laura had in mind. Taking her right hand in his, he began lightly nibbling on the pads of each finger, before sucking one digit at a time into his mouth and laving it with his tongue. He watched with delight as a blush stole over her skin, and her breath quickened. His lips trailed towards her wrist, watching her fingers clench as he suckled there. With a look of determination, she pressed even further down on the accelerator.

"Rem, you have to stop," she urged, breathlessly.

"But I haven't even started yet, love," he disagreed in the moment before his mouth settled on the inside of her elbow. His tongue flicked across the sensitive skin there. He laughed wickedly as he watched her fingers contract, then glanced up in time to watch her lips part as she gasped. With a hard yank of the wheel, she turned left onto a dirt road, traveling about a quarter mile down before slamming hard on the brakes.

Puzzled, Remington looked around the area surrounding them. The Auburn had come to a halt on a precipice overlooking the city below them.

"Lost?" he wondered aloud. Then suddenly found himself with an armful of Laura, as she straddled his lap and dipped her head down to suckle the area below his ear. He lay his head back against the seat, wrapping his hand in her hair, he the one gasping now.

"Los Amantes Lookout," she murmured against his neck, a hand keeping his neck pressed against her lips, as determined fingers of another unzipped his leather jacket, and urged it off his shoulders. She leaned back long enough for him to rid himself of the jacket, tossing it in the driver's side seat. She tugged at the turtle neck he wore underneath. "Lose it," she demanded breathlessly. She explained as he stripped off the shirt. "I think it's about time we make another of our fantasies come true."

Tossing the shirt to the side, he grasped her face in his hands, even as her finger skimmed across his shoulders.

"You do, do you?" He asked, voice soft as a caress. He kissed her lightly, with ever increasing pressure, drawing out each touch of their lips, trying to slow things down. "Here I thought we'd once agreed this was an awfully tight space to trip the light fantastic." His lips kissed a trail from cheek to forehead to cheek.

"I have a couple of ideas." Her nails scraped lightly down his chest, as his lips found her neck. She arched her neck backwards, giving him more access, as he nip-kissed his way down its length.

"Been giving it some thought, have you?" His mouth found that spot at the base of her neck. He sucked gently, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when she ground her hips hard into his in response.

"More often than I should admit. Haven't you?" She inhaled sharply as his mouth tugged a little more firmly, her body twitching almost violently. She scraped her nails over his nipples. He moaned deep in his throat, even as he sucked her skin into his mouth hard, bruising the tender skin.

"So often, there were days I thought it would drive me mad," he confessed, leaning his head back against the seat again, as she pulled away from him so that her lips could find his shoulders. Her lips pressed soft kisses over his skin, alternating occasionally with a gentle nip, a soft suckle as her hands roamed across his chest, his ribs, drawing muted sounds of pleasure from his throat. Dexterous fingers slipped buttons free of a shirt, and slid it over her shoulders. Leaning back, she shrugged it off, then watched his face.

 _My God, she is the most enticing woman I've ever known,_ he thought as his absorbed the sight before him. Laura was clad in a sheer, black bodice that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He immersed himself in the vision, watching, completely entranced, as her nipples hardened before his eyes while her bared skin pinkened under his avid stare. _And her vivid imagination continues to be our best friend._

His hands cupped the soft swell of her breasts, before the pad of a thumb brushed over the taut peaks.

"Rem," she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair, begging him to move to where she needed to feel him the most. His lips found hers and he kissed her with infinite tenderness.

"My God, love, you take my breath away." Palming the small of her back, he urged her upwards on her knees so that he could lavish a hardened bud with his mouth through the negligee. A hand clutched his head, pressing him against her, while another clenched his shoulder. He smiled as he felt her body tremble at the sensual onslaught, even as his moved his lips to the other breast so that he could shower it with attention as well. Anxious to discover what other surprises she had in store for him, a hand slipped between them to open a button and slide down a zipper. Laura pushed herself away from him to semi-stand on the floorboard in front of him. Bracing her hands on the back seat, her lips found his neck again as his hands shoved her pants down over her hips. When his hands made contact with the silk of stockings, he was unable to stop his moan of anticipation. His hands stroked her bottom, covered by only an excuse of fabric, as he pulled her forward. For long minutes, he contented himself with skimming his hands across those glorious legs clad in stockings and kneading her delicious, nearly bare little bottom as she squirmed against him in anticipation throughout.

"Rem…" she murmured again, a trace of desperation burning through the words. Urging her head back so that he could see her eyes, he nodded to himself when he saw the nearly frantic need reflected in those amber pools, then kissed her deeply before leaning away from her.

"Put a foot on either side of me and stand up then, love." She stood on shaky legs as Remington held onto her hands until she found her balance. He placed soft kisses along the line where her panties began, then slid them off of her once she found her footing, and held tight to his shoulders to balance. The moment she kicked aside the black lace, his lips found her inner thighs and began to graze, intentionally teasing her, while stroking those silk-clad legs, and forcing her need into the stratosphere.

"Rem, please…" she said achingly, her hips thrusting towards his face involuntarily, telling him exactly where she needed him.

"My absolute, pleasure, love," he murmured, as skilled fingers parted hot, wet flesh so that his mouth could claim her center. She cried out at the sensation, then moaned deeply as he slid a finger inside of her. Establishing an erotic rhythm, he pushed her fast towards the precipice, sending her up in flames almost immediately. A hand tightened around her hips, holding her steady, as her body quivered and jolted against his mouth. Only when he felt her tremor for a final time did he release her, so she could slide down to sit on his lap. She nuzzled herself against his chest, as his hands stroked her back and his lips brushed the top of her head.

"I believe you're overdressed, sweetheart," she mumbled against Remington's chest where her lips caressed his skin. Her hands reached between them to undo his belt, then unsnapping his pants and pulling down the zipper, climbed off of him to help him tug down his pants and briefs as he lifted his hips from the seat.

"Appears so," he agreed.

"I have a plan," she told him, her voice sultry as she looked up at him through her lashes. His body tightened at her words, knowing that her plans were often devised to bring him either tremendous pleasure or meant to make him beg. Either reason ended with him trembling in her arms from the experience. He tried to appear nonchalant, even as she smiled smugly at him, knowing he was anything but.

"Care to share." he asked, cupping her neck and drawing her to him. With great deliberation, he teased and taunted her lips and mouth until she sighed into his mouth. Meant to distract, the kiss only inspired. Moving away from him, she pushed herself to her knees, patting the trunk of the car.

"Sit," she told him, indicating he should sit perched on the trunk with his legs hanging down over the seat. He raised a brow at her, but lifted himself up and sat as instructed. His tongue reached out and flicked against his lips as he realized her intent when she got to her knees on the back seat, positioning herself between his legs.

Laura nuzzled her cheek against his thigh, before turning her head to suckle the skin on the inside of his knees. With a soft rumble from his throat, he leaned back on his elbows and found purchase on the trunk. Unable to tear his eyes away from her, he watched as her lips and mouth painted a trail up the inside of each thigh. Only when she neared the end of her path and had him panting in anticipation, did she run her fingers up the side of his erection, drawing a deep guttural moan from him, before she wrapped her hand around him. His hips jerked upwards in response to her touch.

"Babe, you're going to have to take it easy unless you want to wait a while longer," he managed to say, before he lost the ability to speak at all when her tongue traced a vein up the side of his length. His eyes rolled back in his head and he closed them, almost desperate to feel the warmth of her mouth enveloping him.

"We have all night, Rem," she answered, even as her tongue traced up another vein and her thumb circled the tip of him. He groaned anew even as he said a small prayer of thanksgiving. Opening his eyes, he watched as she took the tip of his erection into her mouth and nearly lost it there and then. He still reveled in the fact that she not only wanted to do this for him, but loved that she could provide him such intense pleasure. He focused intently on her, as her hand and mouth established a rhythm guaranteed to take him hard and fast towards oblivion. Helplessly, he thrust his hips softly upwards when her fingers found the hard but sensitive skin behind his sacs and he felt the familiar tightening in his groin.

"Laura," he managed to mutter softly, as a hand tangled in her hair, warning her that he was near. She sucked more firmly in response, then held him tight in her mouth as she felt the slight thickening of his erection, before it began twitching in her mouth as he found his breathy release. Hungrily, she swallowed every drop, only releasing him when his hands reached for her. She moved aside as he slid back down into the car, resting his back against the door and pulling her into his arms. He buried his face in her neck, panting, as his body tremored in her embrace. Her fingers stroked soothingly through this hair, curling herself into his body only when his lips pressed against her neck, indicating he'd found his equilibrium again.

They lay wrapped in silence for several minutes, sharing the occasional soft kiss, but otherwise simply enjoying one another's presence. Laura's hand found Remington's and she caressed his wedding band, while losing herself in thought. His hands threaded through the silken strands of her hair, as his eyes flicked from the thumb stroking his wedding band to the face of the woman he adored beyond reason. If the gentle nip of her lower lip was any indication, whatever it was on her mind, it was about the two of them. He'd seen this gesture of hers more and more frequently in recent months, and each time had been followed with some revelation about their relationship, be it regrets from the past or hopes from the future.

Laura laughed quietly to herself. She had absolutely no idea why Wilson had suddenly come to mind, but he had in terms of _Wilson would have been appalled if I had suggested making love in a car, on a public road, where anyone could approach at any time._ A half dozen years ago, she'd believed with every piece of her being that she and Wilson would marry one day soon; they would buy a sensible house in a sensible neighborhood (he was never comfortable living in _her_ home); and, by now, would have had those 2.3 prerequisite children. When he'd left her with no word, no warning, it had been devastating. His abandonment, her father's abandonment, scripted her life for years after that fateful day, to the point that she'd nearly shoved away, for good, the man beside her now.

Had Wilson stayed, she would have continued to try to fit the mold he'd created for her. She would have continued to believe she was at once both too much – too passionate, too wild, too uninhibited – and far too little – not responsible enough, not dependable enough, not reserved enough. She would have continued to deny who she was, what she wanted, in order to be what the man she'd once believed she loved had demanded.

Nuzzling her head against Remington's chest, she wriggled closer to him, wrapping her leg across his hips. She felt his answering nuzzle against the top of her head, even as he hummed contentedly at her seeking more contact with him.

 _If not for Wilson leaving, I wouldn't have this, us, this man._ Without thinking about it, she turned her head and pressed her lips against his chest, before allowing her thoughts to continue their wandering.

 _I'd never have known what it was like to be loved by him… to be loved so completely, faults and all. I wouldn't know what it was like to be encouraged to be the person that I am: Dependable, responsible, Laura and passionate, carefree, Laura; Cautious, analytical, Laura and uninhibited, carefree, Laura. I wouldn't know the… happiness… joy… that I've found in him. I wouldn't know what it's like to be married not just to a man, but to my partner, my best friend, my lover. I would never have felt this… complete._

Releasing his hand, Laura lifted herself from Remington's side to straddle his lap again. He watched her with avid blue eyes as she settled down, then lost herself in him. Her lips grazed on the underside of his jaw as she closed her eyes, and feathered her hands over his shoulders then down his arms, before leaning her forehead against his shoulder, so she could watch as her hands explored his chest. She watched, mesmerized, as she always was when she'd allow herself to indulge in her need to touch him, as the hair on his chest slid over her fingers as she stroked his chest. She smiled as she saw the muscles in his abdomen clench when her thumbs brushed across his nipples. She laughed softly as her lips sought out the hollow of his throat, and a sound of pure pleasure rumbled in his throat when her tongue flicked out to taste him. Her eyes were drawn upwards at the sound, and she flinched, then laughed when she realized he'd been watching her with mounting intensity as she'd answered her need to find him under her hands. Her eyes held his, as she lay a hand on each of his cheeks, stroking them with her thumbs.

"A penny for your thoughts," he offered, hoping that she would share whatever it was that had put the look of pure daring, pure… happiness… in those amber eyes he adored. She cocked her head to the side, considering his request.

"It might surprise you," she warned lightly, even as she followed the urge to taste his neck, her lips trailing towards the spot below his ear that drove him mad.

"I've no doubt it will," he mused, as his hands found the sides of her waist, gripping it when her mouth landed on exactly that spot. His breath quickened at the sensation, even as he felt himself harden in response.

"I was thinking about Wilson," she answered, nipping at his earlobe before drawing it into her mouth. His body twitched beneath hers. She smiled around the lobe she was now suckling on gently. His hands left her waist to stroke her backside, sending sparks across her skin.

"I can't for the life of me imagine why that twit would come to mind ever at all, let alone at a time like this," he told her, semi-appalled at the mere thought. While he'd once considered Wilson a decent enough chap, if not absolutely insane to think of Laura as 'absurdly passionate,' knowing the damage he'd done to the woman in his arms, he positively loathed the man now. Why Laura would even give the man a second thought was beyond him.

"Because if he hadn't left me, I would've never known you; would never have had this." She met lifted her head and met his eyes with hers, taking his face in her hands. "I would have never known how it feels to be loved as much as you love me." She touched her lips against his, his eyes never leaving hers. "I would have never known that I could be this…fulfilled… happy." She threaded her fingers through his hair, leaning her forehead against his.

Remington closed his eyes at her words. Wrapping his arms around her, he crushed her to him, burying his head in her neck, thoroughly overwhelmed. "My God, Laura, what did I ever do to deserve you, this?" His hands shook where they pressed her to him. Sliding her arms under his shoulders, she held him tight.

"You showed up in my office one day. Then stayed, even when you had every reason not to. You held on to us, even when I was too afraid to," she answered, her voice shaking with emotion. "You gave us this, Rem, because you never stopped believing."

Releasing his shoulders, she skimmed her hands over his arms then took his head in her hands, lifting it from her shoulder. She kissed him with all the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her, as it already had him. Her lips lingered against his, touching, tasting, until his lips began to move under, then over hers. Her fingers feathered through his hair, as a tremor passed through her body in response to the exquisite tenderness of his kiss. Shifting on his lap, she pushed herself up on her knees, then slowly sank down on him, until he was buried to the hilt within her. As she rose and fell against him, he grasped her waist. His lips never left hers as she used her hands to caress his chest, his hips, his shoulders, driving him closer to his release with each touch of her hands.

Determined not to arrive without her, his hands gripped her hips and lifted her from him. Confused eyes met his. He caressed her cheek with a hand, then touched his lips against hers.

"Turn around, love," he told her quietly, the hands on her hips urging her to move.

Shifting, she turned around, and still on her knees leaned into him, her back pressed to his chest. Long fingers gathered the hem of her bodice, and pulled it over her head, tossing it aside. A hand stroked her from neck to hip, teasing the sensitive tips of her breasts with each passing, as a mouth laved the back of her neck until she quivered in his arms. Only then did his hands grip her hips and help her settle back over him.

"Rem…" Her voice quaked as she said his name. The feeling of him inside of her again had her hovering at the edge. A hand moved to caress her breasts, to tease their sensitive peaks, while another slipped between folds of flesh to find a sensitive bundle of nerves. Rising to her knees, she drove him in and out of her in a handful of hard, long strokes, then she shattered around him. Her muscles bore down on him, vanquishing his fragile restraint. He moaned her name against her neck, as her muscles pulled him high and tight inside of her, and he exploded in her depths. Only when the last tremor passed through her body and she was left trembling in its wake, did he urge her back around. Gathering her against him, he reached down and grabbed his discarded jacket, draping it around her. Amid nuzzles of a cheek against a chest, a chin against a head, and fingers that stroked comfortingly, they dozed.

* * *

Remington stirred a mere half hour later. For the longest time, he contented himself with simply watching Laura sleep as his fingers toyed with the ends of her hair. There were still many days when he woke fearing that this was just a dream that he would wake from, leaving him aching as his eyes opened. Only when he found her pressed against him or her body wrapped around his, would he be able to breathe again.

For years he had longed for exactly what they had found: intimacy, trust, love, contentment, solace… bliss. Waking with her meant a joyous way to start the day; falling asleep with her in his arms was the perfect way to end it; and every minute spent with her in between marked a truly fulfilling life that at one time he never knew he wanted, then later, after they'd met, was never sure he deserved. Still, he'd clung to it, to the possibility of what they could be to each other, even when she pushed him away. And the one time he'd walked away, leaving in search of the one thing he believed that could make her believe in his commitment to her, he'd been absolutely desolate. It was the memory of that time that had spurred his desperate attempt to marry Clarissa. Instead, he'd found himself married to the woman he loved with an absolute finality that it was rooted in his soul. And in marrying her, he'd come the closest he ever had to losing her for good. It was only through the quirky whims of fate, and the loss of his father, that his hopes for them had become a reality.

He chuckled softly to himself. _No, I knew we were meant to be, but I never could've possibly envisioned the reality of what we are. Had never imagined Laura completely letting go and loving me with the fervor that she does._

His lips trailed over her cheek, forehead, then eyes, as his fingers stroked over an arm, a shoulder. She stirred in his arms before dazed eyes blinked up at him. Seeing the gentle emotion in those blue eyes that looked down at her, she smiled softly, touching his cheek with her fingertips. Her fingers moved to his chest to run across it in a comforting caress.

"Laura…" his voice was gruff when he spoke, leading her to tilt her head back further so she could take a good look at him. He didn't even need to speak the words, his eyes, his body language saying what he needed clearly.

"Let's go home, Rem," she told him, pressing her lips against his then extracting herself from his arms to begin the search for their clothes.

Remington kept his fingers wound tightly with hers on the ride home, wanting, needing the contact with her. They discussed their meeting with Covington the following morning, then engaged in idle small chat. He'd barely opened the door to the flat, when he swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the bedroom, her fingers smoothing through his hair as they kissed. He made love to her endlessly, showering her body with the all-consuming need to show his love for her. Gaelic phrases flowed freely, as fingers memorized again her gentle curves and the soft plains of her body.

Only after they went up in flames together with him buried deep inside of her, did he roll to his back, taking her with him. As she wiped the sweat from his brow, her lips trailed along his jaw, before she nuzzled her face into his shoulder, allowing her lips to linger against his neck. His hands made long, soothing strokes down her back from neck to bottom, while he tried to find his center of balance.

"Ki'taxa vathia' mes sta ma'tia sou ke i'da to me'llon mas," he whispered against her hair. Laying her arms on either side of his head, she pushed herself up on her elbows so that she could look down at him with her head cocked to one side, her curiosity aroused. Her fingers toyed with his hair, as her lips touched his.

"Greek again?" she guessed, then drew back her head to look at him again. A hand drew up her back, and tangled in her hair.

"Aye," he acknowledged, his Irish brogue thickening. "It reminds me of what you said earlier this evenin'."

"What was that?" she asked, shivering as a hand glanced over her bottom. She pressed her lips against his chin.

"That I'd held on to what we were meant to be to one another," he answered, as his fingers swept her damp hair back over her shoulder. "I knew from the moment I met you that we were meant to have this…" He let the words trail off, as he drew her head down to caress her lips with his, wrapping his arms around her and turning them onto their sides as he did. Laura wriggled herself close to him, and sliding a leg between his, nuzzled her head against his chest.

"How did you know?" she murmured sleepily.

"Ki'taxa vathia' mes sta ma'tia sou ke i'da to me'llon mas," he answered quietly, as sleep began to settle upon him.

"What does it mean?" Her hand found the steady thrum of his heart, and she closed her eyes.

"'I looked deep into your eyes and saw our future,'" he told her softly, before pressing his lips to the top of her head. She tilted her head back to look at him, a hand lifting so fingertips could caress a whiskered cheek.

"I love you, Rem." He closed his eyes, as goosebumps trailed down his skin from the emotions her words wrought in him.

"I know," he answered, gruffly. Pressing his lips hard against hers, her nudged her head back down to his chest. A hand lazily stroked her back, as he lulled her towards sleep. She felt him shift slightly, so that his cheek lay on the side of her head. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "I love you, Laura… with all that I am."

"I know," she whispered back, even as her fingers clenched against his chest, tears tickling her eyes at hearing the so seldom spoken, yet so often shown, words. "What am I going to do with you, Rem?"

"I think you know the answer to that, love," he told her quietly.

"I do. And I promise, you, I will… always." He pressed his cheek against the top of her head at her words, and held her just a little more tightly as they drifted off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 11: Of Past and Future Milestone

Chapter 11: Of Past and Future Milestones

 _Wednesday, October 1, 1986_

Laura sat at her desk deep in concentration, determined to wrap up the last of their closed files before their 10 o'clock appointment arrived. Giving the paperwork in front of her a final glance, she set down her pen with a self-satisfied smile. _Done._ Closing the file, she stood and moved to the filing cabinet which held their closed case files for 1986 to put the file to bed.

Remington stood quietly in the doorway between their offices, shoulder propped against the jamb, simply absorbing the site that was his wife. His eyes wandered appreciatively down her body: Her hair pulled back in a simple French braid, secured at the bottom with a light green ribbon; the tailored burnt umber colored tweed jacket and long matching skirt; and the pale green, silk blouse. She was the picture of elegant professionalism, fluid grace.

Moving from the doorway on silent feet, he stepped behind Laura, reaching out to run a hand along her side, and then across her waist in front of her. She smiled and leaned back into him, running a hand along his arm then pulling it a little more tightly around her.

He dipped his chin down to lay on her shoulder, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle that he had long ago associated as being uniquely hers. " _An Affair to Remember_. Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr. Twentieth Century Fox. 1957," he spoke softly against her ear, then leaned down to run a feathery kiss along her neck.

She turned in his arms, then ran both hands up his chest before linking her arms around his neck, waiting expectantly for him to relay whatever association he had on his mind between the movie and the moment.

He slung one arm around her waist, holding her firm, while the other hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek close to her lips. "'I was looking up…It was the nearest thing to heaven! You were there…'." He leaned down to kiss her softly as he dropped his hand from her waist and reached into his pocket then stepped slightly away from her, holding up a velvet jeweler's box with a ribbon wrapped around it.

Laura gave a short, pleased gasp. Taking it from his hand, she simply looked at it for a moment wondering if she would ever get used to his romantic gestures that had begun appearing with such frequency since they returned home from their honeymoon. Head still swimming from the quote from the movie that he had whispered in her ear, she glanced from the present to him, to find his eyes on her, his face lit with nervous anticipation.

Loosening then removing the ribbon, she slowly opened the lid, a smile lighting up her face as she admired the Cartier watch, gold with diamonds encrusted around the face, lying against the velvet. Extracting the watch, she laid the now empty box on the filing cabinets.

"It's beautiful. Thank you," she told him, reaching up to brush his lips with hers.

"I thought it was about time I made good on that promise from last Christmas. Read the inscription," he prodded her, smiling down at her.

She turned the watch over to look at its back. There lay the permanently etched words, "You were there… 10/1/1982."

"You remembered."

"It's not a matter of remembering, it's more a question of how could I ever forget the day I first saw you? I knew in that moment that I'd never wanted a woman more than I wanted you." He wrapped his arms around her waist drawing her close once more.

"And now?" she teasingly asked, linking her arms around his neck once more.

"And now, I know there will never be enough time left to hold you," he pulled her tighter, "touch you," he ran a hand up her side, brushing softly across the side of her breast, "make love to you," he finished, before dropping his mouth to hers and claiming her lips. Laura's quiet sigh of pleasure had Remington urging her mouth to open to him as his hand moved to the back of her head to press her lips tighter against his own.

At the sound of the intercom buzzing, their lips broke away from one another. Both gave a groan of frustration, as she broke free from his arms and went to her desk to answer it.

"Yes, Mildred?"

"Mr. Covington is here for his 10 o'clock appointment, Miss Holt."

Laura glanced at Remington before responding, "Give us five minutes then send him into Mr. Steele's office, Mildred."

"You got it."

Laura walked back over to Remington and holding out the watch asked, "Will you put it on for me?"

He grinned, then took the watch and snapped it onto her right wrist, before pulling her back close. When his head dipped back towards her again, Laura reached up and put two fingers on his lips.

"As much as I would love to, Mr. Steele, we have a client waiting. I'll make it up to you, though. I promise. I have a little something of my own up my sleeve."

He looked at her, surprised. "I rather thought our tete-a-tete in the Auburn last night was in honor of today."

"Mmmmmm," she hummed, shaking her head in the negative. "Not at all. That was simply because it was time for us to end our standing as 'the only people in the state who've yet to make love' in the Auburn," she told him with an insolent grin, echoing the words back to him that he'd said two years before.

"Dare I hope for a repeat performance of your fan dance, then?" He asked hopefully, his smile fading when she laughed at him.

"Not tonight, big guy," she teased, taking his arm and guiding him towards their shared office door. "But, still, I think you'll be very pleased."

Remington attempted to turn around so that he could cajole more information from her, but found himself being propelled through their door. Automatically, he put an affable smile on his face, just in time to see Mildred escort Covington in through Remington's office door.

"Covington," Remington greeted the man with an outstretched hand.

"Steele," Covington responded in kind, then directed a nod towards Laura. "Miss Holt."

"If you'll have a seat, Mr. Covington, we won't take up too much of your time," Laura offered.

With a curt nod, Covington took a seat in front of Remington's desk, while Laura slid up on the corner of Remington's desk to sit, crossing her legs then giving Remington a nod once he'd settled into his desk chair. Sliding open his desk drawer, he pulled out a box and stretched across the desk to offer it to their client.

"I believe these are the pieces that you hired us to secure," Remington explained.

Covington's eyes flicked towards Remington, clearly surprised. Opening the lid to the box, a smile broke out on his face.

"That they are. I must admit, Steele, I didn't think you'd be able to pull it off in the time frame you proposed."

"Mr. Steele always does his utmost to make certain our client's needs are met in a timely and efficient manner, Mr. Covington. And with your case, it seemed time was particularly of the essence," Laura filled in.

"Yes, and while the timeline presented certain challenges, at Remington Steele Investigations our word is our bond. Anything less than successful resolution of your case within the timeline provided would violate the very tenants of our philosophy," Remington told him, picking up where Laura left off.

"Well, Steele, you certainly succeeded in this regard," Covington told him while pushing to his feet. He shoved an outstretched hand towards Remington. Standing, Remington clasped his hand to shake on a job well done. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it this. These have been in my family for generations and the thought that they wouldn't remain that way…"

"Miss Holt deserves the lion's share of the credit," Remington told the man. "The plan was conceived by she from start to finish and implemented with near perfection."

"My heartfelt appreciation to you, then, Miss Holt," Covington told her, turning to take her hand in his as well. "I'll just take care of my bill with Ms. Krebs on my way out."

Laura and Remington watched as Covington departed, closing the door in his wake.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Laura told him, as he rounded the desk to stand in front of her.

"Of course I did. It was the truth, after all," he answered with a dismissive shrug. "What's next on the agenda for today, Miss Holt." With a mysterious look in his direction, she slid off the desk and headed towards her office. Cocking his head to the side, he watched her disappear, before he began to follow. She reemerged from her office before he could make it to the door way. Seeing her purse in her hands, he threw her a questioning look.

"What's next is the first part of your surprise," she told him, weaving her fingers with his, then urging him along behind her into the reception area.

"And what might that be?" he asked, his curiosity aroused further. "Laura…"

"This," she answered him vaguely before she turned to Mildred. "Mildred, we're done for the day. Mr. Steele and I will see you on Tuesday."

"Awwww, Boss, don't look so surprised," she grinned at the absolutely flummoxed look on his face, "You should know the missus wouldn't forget the anniversary of your arrival at the Agency." Seeing the amused look on her face, Remington put a staunch look on his face.

"Of course, not Mildred. I never for a moment thought otherwise," he answered truthfully, even while his brain was working to digest that it appeared his wife had declared them MIA for the next several days.

"Uh-huh, try that with someone who doesn't know you so well," she scolded him lightly, grinning all the while. "You two kids enjoy your weekend."

"We will," Laura assured her. "And don't let me find out you were in here on Friday. Remember, it's a long weekend for yourself as well. You've more than earned it." With a gentle tug on her husband's hand, they left the office.

Once in the elevator, Remington turned Laura into his embrace, his arms hanging loosely around her hips as she slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders to toy with the hair on the back of his neck. He gave her a roguish grin hoping to schmooze her plans for them out of her.

"Something on your mind, Mr. Steele?" she asked smoothly, feigning innocence.

Bending down he touched his lips to the side of her neck, before leaning back and capturing her with an electric, blue-eyed gaze.

"What do you have in mind for us today? Hmmm?" He swayed with her, while taking a step closer.

"I thought we'd start with looking at some furnishings for the house, follow that with lunch," she drew a single finger down his chest, upping the ante, smirking when she felt his body tense then shutter. "After, a double feature matinee, then dinner at Chez Rive."

"Here I was thinking you might have something more… lascivious… in mind." He wagged his brows at her hopefully.

"Oh, I fully intend to have you at my… absolute… unequivocal… mercy this evening," she assured him, tucking a finger between two buttons on his shirt, and teasing the skin underneath. She gave him a cocky little smile this time, when she felt his quick intake of breath.

"Oh, you do, do you now? Perhaps a little wager is in order…" he teased, his voice holding the clear undertones of a challenge.

"A wager… What exactly do you have in mind?" she asked, intrigued. This time it was Remington that gave her a smug smile. If there was anything she couldn't resist, it was a wager.

"If you… surrender… first, a week… you and me… at a certain little villa in the South of France…." Laura bit down on her lip to keep from smiling, while pretending to ponder the idea.

"Alright. But if you… fold… first, you have to watch the entire collection of _The Fugitive_ with me… without a single negative statement from start to finish." She bit down on her lip again to keep from laughing.

Remington looked at her aghast. "Laura, I offer up a week in veritable paradise, where we can indulge in romance…" he gave her a waggle of his brows, "… and one another endlessly, and you? You offer up what some might equate to… to… torture."

"Those are my terms, Remington," she laughed, then ran a hand over the cheek of his bum. She felt him twitch under her hand and his breathing pick up a notch, while she flashed him a self-satisfied smile. She watched his resistance crumble.

"Pleased with yourself, are you, Mrs. Steele?"

"That depends. Do we have ourselves a bet?" He mulled her words for a moment, then pursed his lips.

"Under one condition," he negotiated. "We forgo the matinee and address the matter at hand instead." Laura straightened slightly, her eyes widening.

"You, passing up an afternoon in the movie theater? Surely I must have heard you wrong, Mr. Steele," she teased lightly.

"You heard me quite correctly. Do we have ourselves a deal?" She gave her head a shake, as an idea came to mind.

"I have a condition of my own, then: If we skip the movies, we forgo Chez Rive. Something tells me someone plans to leave me too tired to muster up the energy to dress for dinner. But…" she tapped` his shoulder, "I insist on being fed." He turned away from her but allowed his hand to linger around her waist as elevator settled in at the lobby.

"I do believe, we have ourselves a little bet, Mrs. Steele," Remington grinned, already planning his strategy as they alighted from the elevator.

"Yes, we do," she agreed. She allowed herself a silent laugh. _Will he never learn?_ she mused. _Never once has he won one of these little bets of ours, because with three simple steps he is at my mercy, every time._

She gave the hand at her waist a little squeeze, before they separated going to the opposite sides of the car to get in.

* * *

Remington's hand lightly lay against Laura's back as they perused the furniture selections, neither of them exactly certain where to even begin. The new house would require substantial furnishings not due to sheer size, as both had wanted a cozy home, but simply due to the number of rooms. His one bedroom flat and her loft, which would amount to a good size studio in most people's minds, certainly didn't hold enough furnishings for a four-bedroom home, with an office, 2 living areas and dining room. Then, of course, there were the two seating areas outside that had to be taken into consideration as well. Remington finally paused in his step, looking around the store, while pulling on an ear in consternation. Laura stutter stepped when she realized she was suddenly walking alone, and turned around to look at him. Tilting her head, seeing the tug on his ear, she smiled and took several steps forward to stand in front of him, grasping his hand in hers.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit out of my element here, love. I've never furnished a house before. Bloody hell, I've never so much as purchased a single piece furniture before. I've no idea where even to begin," he confessed with a good deal of unease.

"Rem, it's okay. We'll figure it out together. We'll just take it step-by-step, beginning with the furnishings we already have. I have a few ideas there, if you'd like to hear them," she suggested, while reaching up to draw a hand through the side of his hair. Releasing a tension filled breath at her touch, he relaxed visibly.

"By all means, what have you in mind?" Taking her hand, they began strolling the aisles together again.

"First, a question, I suppose. I've always assumed that you liked the style and color palette in which I decorated the flat before… well, you were you. You've never said you liked or disliked it, though I suspect if it were the latter you never would have said…" she trailed off.

He glanced at her, a tender smile lighting his face. _Shy, hesitant Laura has made an appearance, then, I see,_ he thought to himself. With a lift of a brow, he realized how much he had been missing this side of her, not that he'd be begging this side back for a full-time appearance. It was, after all, this part of her that had prevented her from grabbing on to what they were to be. It was where all her doubts, insecurities and fears lay. It was, however, this side of her that had captured his heart as much as it was the rare glimpses of the bold, uninhibited Laura he'd seen from time-to-time across the years.

Casually, for her sake, he answered her unasked question. "Your taste is exquisite, Laura. It was as though you decorated the flat for me before you ever even know there was a me that would one day live there." He watched as his words boosted her flagging confidence and her maple colored eyes sparkled with pleasure. Her shoulders righted themselves and she gave a little flip of her head.

"The house already had a great deal of black and white in its design: floors, fireplace, trim and such. I was thinking that maybe we should combine the things we both admired about Daniel's villa and what we've most enjoyed at your apartment." She took his hand and weaved their fingers together as she strode briskly down an aisle, then stopped. "We put your current living room furniture in the living space adjoining the office. If we used the appropriate blinds, change the doors to the entrance, then that room becomes your screening room." Remington flashed his dimples at her, thrilled that she'd designate an area in their home for such.

"And the main living area?" Laura nodded at the oversized sofa in front of her. The snow white sofa of buttery soft leather sported the clean lines they both appreciated. "Two of these, running perpendicular to the fireplace," she led him several more steps down the aisle, "Two of these at the opposite end of the fireplace," she told him, indicating two black leather chairs that would complement the white sofa extraordinarily well. "Gray, black and red throw pillows on the sofa; white and red throw pillows on the chairs." Another tug of his hand and several more steps. "These coffee and end tables," indicating the glass furnishings. "They'll balance out the openness of the room, and compliment perfectly your dining room set at the other side."

"It seems you've incorporated nearly all of the furnishings from my place into the house, where does that leave your own?" he inquired, a slight frown wrinkling his brow.

"Except for my piano and a few personal decorations… at the loft. We need to leave it furnished for friends and family when they come into town." Remington gave a tug of his ear, while regarding her. There were still times when he was unsure of certain nuances of this relationship they'd forged. _Is this truly what she wishes, or is she trying to mold herself to some idea she believes I have?_ he wondered.

"I seem to recall you putting a good deal of time and energy into making that warehouse a home, Laura. The loft is as much a reflection of yourself as you yourself are. Yet you're willing to leave it all behind?" Glancing at his face, she saw he was truly troubled by her suggestion.

"Not leave it behind," she qualified, "But leave it as it is. Every space is unique, Rem. Your apartment called out for greys, blacks, a splash of color here and there, whereas the loft needed very specific furniture to give it a feeling of home. This house we're buying has a calling all its own. It just happens some of your pieces fit well into that design." She gave him a sidelong glance. "Besides, I am not suggesting we take all of your furniture…" she trailed off intentionally to pique his interest.

"Oh, and what will remain behind or be rehomed?" In spite of himself, he felt a surprising sense of loss at the idea. The flat was the only place he'd ever stayed for any period of time; the only place he'd ever truly felt at home. The trappings within those walls were as much a part of that feeling as the flat itself.

"I think we should consider buying some new furniture for our bedroom. We need more… room." She flushed slightly as she spoke, drawing up Remington's lips in a smile. There were few things that he enjoyed more than flustering her, and she'd just offered up the perfect opportunity.

"Oh, and why, exactly, do we need more room?" Her eyes flicked towards him, saw the amusement dancing in his eyes and knew what he was about. She gave her head a quick little shake, refusing to get drawn in.

"You know _exactly_ why, I don't need to tell you," she answered, her mocha eyes twinkling up at him, before she grabbed his hand again and gave it a little tug. They walked several aisles over so she could browse as they spoke.

"You've tired of sleeping close to me already? A mere three months into wedded bliss? I do believe you've wounded me." Laura rolled her eyes at his antics.

"That's not the reason and you know it," she answered breezily, picking her way through the packed aisles towards a bedroom collection that had caught her eye.

"I can't for the life of me think of another reason why you'd be seeking more sp…." She fairly growled in part frustration, part amusement. Turning to face him, she plunked her hands down on her hips, and looked at him mutinously even as laughter shown in her eyes

"You're not going to stop until I say it, are you?" Flashing a pair of dimples at her, he smiled widely at her.

"Of course not," he confirmed. Her hands left her hips, to cross over her chest. Her chin tipped up even as she pursed her lips.

"Fine," she said with a shake of her head, then taking a deep breath prayed she could say the words without blushing furiously. "Because we've fallen out of bed one time too many in our… exuberance." _Damn, damn, damn,_ she groaned to herself as she felt the heat crawl across her skin and Remington watched her flush with no small amount of glee. Shoving his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot-to-foot, as he smiled a silly little smile of pure joy. She let go of a little puff of air, rolling her eyes in the process. She'd stroked his ego, knew it, and it chafed. "If we can get back to the matter at hand, Remington." She affected that prim and proper countenance that she carried so well, making him smile all the more. Dimples and teeth flashed, leading her to lift the back of her hand to her forehead and shake her head. "Bedroom sets, Mr. Steele," she said wearily, then grimaced at the plea she heard in her own voice.

"Of course, Mrs. Steele. By all means, please expound on the virtues of size and indefatigability… of the various mattresses offered," he smirked, while lifting her hand and pressing his lips against the pulse in her wrist, watching her fingers clench and the flush deepen.

"What am I going to do with you?" she lamented, a little breathlessly.

"I'm open to suggestions," he offered in return with a lascivious wag of his brows.

"Focus, Remington," she admonished.

"I assure you, I am nothing if not focused," he returned, his eyes traveling lazily over her from head-to-toe.

"On the beds," she clarified.

"Precisely what I am focusing on, Mrs. Steele," he assured her. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Here… in the store…" she managed to ground out.

"I've never been much into exhibitionism, Laura, but if you're that insistent I suppose I could make an exception for…" She was tempted to stomp her foot, to yell, instead an idea flashed through her mind and a wicked little gleam appeared in her eyes. Seeing it, his words stumbled. "…you." He flashed her an apprehensive look when she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, then with a neat little spin, took him down on top of her onto the nearest bed. He pushed up to his elbows, only to have her weave a hand through his hair, press against the back of his head, and pull him down for a steamy kiss. When a small hand wandered under the back of his jacket to trail in an ever southerly direction, he forcefully ended the kiss, pushing himself back up on his elbows to look down at her in shock. "Lauraaaaaaa," he growled in the warning voice reserved when she was most intent on teasing him.

"What are you waiting for, big guy?" she teased, running a finger down his chest. He desperately clenched the meandering hand in his before she could reach her obvious objective. "You said if I _really_ wanted…" She squelched the need to giggle at the panic reflected in his eyes.

"Laura, we've an image to maintain and somehow I don't think…" His words were cut off when she drew him down for another kiss.

"Mmmmm," she hummed against his lips. "Just imagine the publicity…" She kissed him deeply, smiling against his lips as he extracted himself again.

"Precisely my point," he told her firmly. "I've no interest, whatsoever, of the world at large enjoying a view of my wife's luscious little body."

"But you've been after me for years to let go of my inhibitions…" she pointed out, pretending to be perplexed. She finally allowed herself a little laugh when he pried himself from her arms, then standing, pulled her upright as well.

"Yes, well, perhaps we need to add an addendum that those inhibitions stay firmly in place unless whatever you have in that creative mind of yours is for my eyes only," he told her, wiping a hand across his mouth to remove her lipstick. "Really, Laura…" he chastised.

"You started it," she volleyed back.

"Yes, but I'd no idea you'd be will-… you'd want… Bloody hell." Taking a swipe at his hair with his hand, he shoved his hands in his pockets, wearing his discomfort like a poorly fitted suit.

She'd meant to prove a point, not to send him reeling. It was a stunning realization, after years of his inferring that when it came to sex he had absolutely no inhibitions, that he, in fact, had quite a few. Long ago, he'd established boundaries with his various conquests – areas in which he would not dabble as they were far too personal in his eyes. He refused to use terms of endearment with those same paramours, not wishing to infer an intimacy he neither felt nor wanted. And it appeared, after years of implying he'd take her anytime, anywhere she was willing, this was yet another of those boundaries. She stepped to him, and stroked a cheek with her hand.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to make a point, nothing more," she told him quietly. Laying a hand over hers, he leaned into her palm.

"Appears you've caught me off-guard," he offered, with a sheepish grin.

"A difficult feat," she offered at an attempt of levity.

"Hmmmmm," he hummed non-committedly. "You've a gift, it seems, at setting me off-kilter. Always have." His attempt at a smile fell somewhere short of the mark, as his eyes still showed his tension.

"I could say the same for you," she acknowledged, then pressed herself up on her toes to touch her lips to his. With a final stroke of a hand through his hair, she offered, "Bedroom furniture, Mr. Steele?"

"Mmmmm," he hummed in agreement.

It took Remington a while to find firm footing again after Laura's misstep. They'd selected a new bedroom set, settling on a black ensemble that continued to reflect their joint tastes, as well as two white wing chairs for the sitting area of their bedroom. They'd just selected two more sets of bedroom furniture for the guest rooms, when Laura was ready to make tracks away from the bedroom furniture towards outdoor living. Remington quickly grabbed her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

"We've one more bedroom yet, love," he reminded her, grinning at her forgetfulness. "We've four bedrooms to furnish, we've only managed three so far." Her eyes skimmed away from his, and she gave his hand a little pull, indicating they should keep walking. He held firm. "Laura?" She looked at him, and let out her breath in a little puff of air.

"I thought we'd leave the fourth alone for now," she told him evasively, giving his hand another little tug. This time, he followed along with her, while peering at her with a sideways glance.

"Any particular reason why?"

She stopped and peered at a set of rattan outdoor furniture that caught her interest. _Two love seats, a couple of chairs, a table, all centered around the fireplace out by the pool,_ she considered, then scrunched her face as he waited for an answer.

"What do you think about that set?" she asked pointing to the furniture she had in mind, hoping to distract him. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels, his eyes never leaving her.

"Delightful," he said without so much as a glance towards the furniture. "Now, about the last bedroom."

"It would help if you actually _looked_ at the furniture, Remington. I'm concerned about the white in the design. Do you think it will hold up under the outdoor clime?"

"Lauraaaaa," he prodded with an exasperated tone. "Talk to me." She glanced at him, then shook her head.

"This is not the place to have that discussion, Remington. Can we talk about it later?" She was verging on panic at the mere thought of having the discussion here and now. Watching her carefully, he nodded slowly.

"At home then," he agreed. Her quick nod and smile of relief almost made him laugh. "Now, which set?"

Another hour later, the rest of the outdoor furniture was selected, along with a state of the art grill for Remington who enthused endlessly about its uses.

"Just think, Laura. Donald, Frances and the children over on the summer holidays. The children playing in the pool, while lunch is cooking up upon the grill… Perhaps we should consider putting up one of those play sets – you know the ones with swings, teeter totters and slides – for the children. We've certainly enough room in the yard beyond the pool. Monroe and Jocelyn over for an evening of relaxation: dinner followed by a soak in the hot tub with a nice glass of wine. The possibilities are endless."

She'd only been able to shake her head in amusement at his belief that he'd had to sell her on the idea of a grill in the first place. In her opinion, when you had a man that was not only willing to cook but loved to do so, any toys he desired in pursuit of that end should be his without question. So, she'd humored him, hemming and hawing, then finally relenting, allowing him to believe he'd come out the conqueror of that particular match.

It was well worth it, in her opinion, as they left the store hand-in-hand, his blue eyes bright with his hopes and plans for afternoons and evenings for years to come.

She only hoped he liked the next surprise that she had waiting at home for him near as much as that grill.


	14. Chapter 12: The Art of Winning A Wager

**_Please note: This contains NC-17 content. Please skip to chapter 13 if you are under age 18 or uncomfortable with such material._**

* * *

Chapter 12: The Art of Winning A Wager

They had a long, lazy lunch at the pub just down the way from the flat. Over the last several months, the pub had been their "go to" place for enjoying a relaxing lunch on the weekend or simply to recap the day over a glass of wine. Before they even realized it, they'd wiled away a good portion of the afternoon and it was verging on 3:30 before they departed for home.

Entering the apartment, Laura headed straight to the bedroom, pretending not to notice the large, wrapped box sitting on the coffee table in the living room. She'd been conspiring with Monroe for the better part of the week to come up with the perfect rendition of what she had in mind, then had sweet talked her co-conspirator into dropping it off at the apartment after she and Remington had left that morning. One side of her lips quirked upwards in a devious little smirk as she quickly stripped down in the bedroom even as Remington called out to her.

"Laura, it seems we've had a package delivered while we were out. Any idea what it's about?" She heard the touch of glee in his voice, even as he tried to pretend he wasn't fully aware the gift was for him. She smothered a laugh before answering.

"Probably the wedding present from my cousins that Mother was sending to me from Connecticut," she called back to him, this time laughing as she heard his hum of disappointment. Slipping on the red, lace negligee that she'd purchased in Cannes and had kept secreted away for precisely this day, she walked across the bedroom, then leaned in a come hither pose against the door frame. "Or, it could be the anniversary present that I picked up for you."

Remington turned to look at her, an excited grin lighting his face. Seeing her, he did a double take then froze as his smile faltered then faded, intense blue eyes perusing her from head-to-toe. _My God._ Unconsciously he flicked his tongue against his lips, even as his hands clenched then unclenched in an all-consuming need to run his hands along her delightful curves, highlighted by the clinging and nearly see through garment that ended high on her thighs.

"Of course," she added in a sultry little tone of voice, "there's another present standing right here for you to… unwrap."

Striding swiftly across the room, he loosened his tie and tossed it aside, along with his jacket, before reaching her. Palms cupping her cheeks, he drew her lips to his, devouring them hungrily. Her own hands tugged at his shirt, pulling it free of his pants, so that small hands could burrow underneath in search of skin blanketed in a thick rug of hair. Her touch drove him to deepen the kiss even further, as his hands skimmed down over her arms before sliding to her back and each hand grasped a cheek of a curvaceous bottom. Moaning deeply, she pried her arms from under his shirt, to wrap them firmly around his neck, as his hands lifted her from her feet. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she laughed huskily as he stumbled towards the bed, groaning deep within his throat when her mouth grazed at the patch of sensitive skin underneath his ear. Turning, he fell back onto the bed, so that she landed atop of him. With a flick of her hair, she sat up, grinning down at him, as her hands quickly freed one button of his shirt after another.

"Good Lord, love, where've you been hiding this little gem?" Remington panted, as his hands traced the curve of her waist, the gentle swell of a breast, his eyes feasting on the skin that peeked out through the delicate lace.

"Just a little something I tucked away from Chantal's shop," Laura answered breathily, as she swept open his shirt. Closing her eyes with a rapturous sigh, her small hands explored his chest in depth before nails lightly scraped from his shoulder to waist. Long, elegant fingers clutched her hips almost desperately and her nimble fingers unbuckled a belt, then unbuttoned his pants and slid the zipper down. His hips twitched under hers as he moaned anew.

"Keep up this pace, love, and I'll be winnin' our little wager afore ye know it," he half-laughed, half-growled, the melody of his native tongue dancing through his words as he spoke. Her lips quirked, knowing she already had him at the edge. Hedging her odds, she slipped a hand beneath the waistband of pants and briefs to caress his already rock hard erection. His hips bucked helplessly beneath her as he sucked in a desperate gulp of air. She laughed throatily.

"We'll be 'aving none of that, mo ghra," he rasped, flipping her to her back and settling between her legs as she laughed a sultry little laugh that ended in a gasp when his teeth nipped a hardening bud of her breast through the lace. Impatient hands shoved his shirt over his shoulders. She sighed when he shook himself free of the material, even as his mouth continued to taunt, and her fingers found the flesh of his back.

"I disagree, Rem. I plan to be having plenty of that," she promised, her back arching when slender fingers meandered along the juncture of her thighs. "No fair," she moaned, to be met with a deep, knowing laugh. Fingers feathered up a back in retaliation, as she emitted a laugh of her own, as his back arched underneath her hands. Two fingers dug playfully between two ribs. He jerked away automatically, allowing her to hook a leg around his hips, to flip them once again.

Two hands grabbed desperately for purchase when they teetered on the edge of the bed, laughter erupting between them. Rolling them over again, he buried his face in her neck, laving the sensitive skin at the base of it with mouth and tongue, wringing an audible sigh from her, even as a tremor passed through her body in response to his ministrations.

"Bigger bed," she mumbled, drawing another laugh from him. Her hands shoved at the waistband of his pants and briefs. He flipped them again, landing Laura on top so that she could shimmy the remainder of his clothes off his body while his hands sought out any flesh within reach.

They taunted and teased one another for the better part of an hour, both refusing to give in, taking one another time and time again to the edge of oblivion, but refusing to pitch the other over the precipice until the words being fought for were said. It was only when Remington declared the little red number 'utterly delectable but in the way,' stripping it from her body, that she knew surrender was near. Nestled between her legs, his mouth veritably worshipping her breasts, she stroked her fingers through his hair.

"Rem?" she panted.

"Not going to work," he mumbled around a mouthful of breast. An avaricious little smirk passed over her lips before she continued.

"Rem, look at me," she pleaded. With a deep groan, he released her breast from his mouth, to shift upwards. The intense want he saw swimming in shimmering amber eyes stole his breath away. Her fingers ghosted over his back. He arched helplessly into them, the motion causing him to grind his hips into hers, drawing impassioned groans from both of them.

"Rem…" she panted, "Have I ever told you how much I love to feel you inside of me…" her lips traveled along his jawline as she spoke, even as her fingers traced pretty little patterns over his back, drawing goosebumps across his skin, "… filling me, as only you can…" her lips journeyed to his neck to kiss, suckle, tease. His eyes rolled back in his head, before they closed as a tremor passed through his body. "I think I was made for you, you for me…" her tongue laved the sensitive skin beneath an ear.

"Oh, God, love… you're not playing fair," he breathed shakily.

"…To feel you moving deep inside of me…" her lips journeyed down a neck, as her hands skimmed down his back to fondle the firm cheeks of a bum.

"Laura…" he mumbled her name in a near plea.

"…how much I love it when I feel you shuddering within me, to know that my body can bring you that kind of pleasure…" Her mouth found the skin at the base of his neck, began to suckle. She released the skin to cry out when a pair of fingers found a tightened peak and rolled it between them. Her body trembled beneath his, as her mouth returned to its place, suckling harder, with more zest.

"…to know that you're only mine, that I'm only yours…" His head reared back, his face painted with rapture as she marked him as her own. "Tá mo chroí istigh ionat, mo chuisle mo chroí," she whispered against his ear. His entire body shuddered at hearing words of love spoken in Gaelic crossing her lips in that lyrical voice of hers.

"My God, Laura… you win," he vowed raspily, an arm wrapping under her hips, lifting them, so he could slide deep into her hot, wet sheath. He leaned his forehead against hers, losing himself in the feel of her muscles clenching him, even as she sighed in breathy relief to finally find him within her. He was powerless to do anything but mutter a single word, as he began to move. "Babe…" he breathed out, as his body shook above her.

"Rem," she murmured, drawing his name out, her hands clasping either side of his face and drawing his lips down to meet hers. She could feel him thicken slightly as he moved with long, slow strokes within her. Her hands left his face to explore the damp skin of his back and felt his body tremor underneath her hands in his effort to delay his own climax until she found hers. The mere thought that he was waiting for her, ramped up her ever-present ardor for him. Her legs moved down to clamp around his thighs as she cried out, shuddering almost violently as she found her release.

"Mo shíorghrá," he breathed against her ear as her clenching muscles milked his hardened shaft. Groaning deep in his throat, his mouth searched for her neck, suckling, as his own climax broke, leaving him pulsating deep within her, ripping another soft cry from her throat at the feeling of his warmth being released deep within her.

"Rem," she called out to him, in an emotionally charged sigh.

"I know, love. My God, I know," he answered on an unsteady voice, his words partially muffled, as he buried his head into her neck, losing himself in the fluttering of her fingers up and down the length of his back. He allowed himself to revel in the feel of her hands soothing his body for a few minutes, before wrapping his arms around her, and turning to his back, taking her with him. Laura nestled against his side, before slinging a leg over his thighs, wanting to keep him as near as possible. Their hands continued to wander, softly stroking rhythmically over bare flesh until they dozed.


	15. Chapter 13: Unveiled

Chapter 13: Unveiled

Laura woke a little over an hour later to find Remington, sketchpad and pencil in hand, leaning against the backboard of their bed, as nude as he'd been when they surrendered to sleep. She took a few minutes to admire his physique. _I don't think God ever made a more beautiful man,_ she thought to herself.

Three months now, and like Remington, there were still times she struggled to believe this was real. There were nights that she dreamt that their time together had been nothing more than a dream and they had never managed to make it past the Clarissa, INS and Tony debacle. They continued to work on together as partners, but there was an indivisible wall between them now, far higher, far wider than the one that had existed after Cannes, the hurt on both sides too great to conquer. She'd wake from those dreams aching for him, and finding him there, wrapped around her, would burrow herself as far into him as she could, seeking the comfort of his scent, his presence.

Then there were the nights that she dreamt, instead, of Tony. Or, perhaps, a better wording would be that she dreamt of what she'd done to Remington via Tony. Those blue eyes looking at her with hurt so deep in their depths that it would leave her floundering to breathe. Even worse, of arriving at Paddington Station to find that Tony's plan had been successful, and she could only hold the hand of Remington's cold, lifeless body as the man that had arranged it all tried to offer her comfort. She was left ambling through life, lost without him, regretting every time she turned away from him, every time she hurt him, every moment that they would never share with one another. She'd wake from those dreams nauseous, panting for breath, feeling as though someone had ripped her heart from her chest and had left her with nothing but a stark, gaping hole where it had once been. She'd find herself clutching at his hands, his arms, his sides – anywhere she could cling to, desperate for that connection, desperate for the proof that it had been nothing more than a nightmare. She'd woken Remington several times after those dreams, he with the misconception she was seeking to make love again and needing to rid herself of the feeling that had been left by the nightmares, she would take what he offered voraciously, needing to lose herself in the essence of his touch, of him.

She blinked her eyes now, stirring from her reverie, to find a pair of bright blue eyes looking down at her. His head slightly cocked, she could see he was trying to read from body language alone what had taken her mind away, for no matter how brief a time. She smiled up at him, almost shyly.

"Hi," was her simple greeting. His face lit with a smile.

"Hi, yourself." Sliding his sketchpad and pencil back in the bedside table drawer, he slid down on the bed until he was facing her. She lay her fingertips on his cheek and just looked at him for several long seconds, as her heart swelled with joy that he was here, with her.

"Rem? Would you do something for me?"

"Nearly anything, love. Don't you know that yet?" Mirroring her own action, he lay the tips of long, elegant fingers against her cheek.

"I need to show you." His brows raised slightly, amused that she even had to ask, while his heart thumped a little harder in his chest at her words.

"I'm all yours, love." At the touch of her fingers on his hip, he rolled to his back, his blue eyes watching her avidly as she slung a leg over his hips, and settled herself on top of him. This time, the fingers of both hands touched his cheeks as she stared at him.

"You really are, aren't you?" she asked, a touch of wonder in her voice. His hand circled the back of her neck, and drew her down until they were almost nose-to-nose.

"I have been for a very, _very_ long time, Mrs. Steele." Her heart filled with such contentment at his words that it throbbed almost painfully. She felt the threat of tears behind her eyes, and blinked rapidly trying to force them away.

"You're everything to me, Mr. Steele," she whispered against his lips. A hand swept her hair over her shoulder, then caressed the side of her face.

"And you to me," he whispered, drawing her lips to his for a tender kiss.

She lost herself in him then, showing him with her touch what he was to her. Only when he was left, head resting on her bare breast, trembling and exhausted after she made love to him with the thoroughness of the detective that she was, was she able to fall back into a sound sleep, knowing she'd loved her man, and loved him well.

* * *

Laura woke to the smell of something cooking. As always, the tantalizing scents wafting through the apartment from the kitchen were like the call of a siren to her. Her stomach, also took notice, rumbling loudly its protest that it had gone too long without food, especially after a long afternoon of vigorous… exercise. Sliding out of bed, she wrapped herself in a robe, and went in search of the chef.

She found herself somewhat disappointed, to find her husband dressed in a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, his hair damp. She'd hoped they'd share a shower or bath (and see what other mischief they could get themselves into) when they woke. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she admitted that this was probably for the better anyway, as Monroe was due to call within the hour. Sliding her arms around Remington, she pressed her face between his shoulder and inhaled the remarkable scent of soap, cologne and him. Placing a lid on the sauce that was simmering on the stovetop, he deposited the spoon on the spoon rest then turned in her arms to envelope her in his. He bussed her on top of the head, before leaning back to look down at her.

"I was beginning to wonder, Mrs. Steele, if you were going to sleep the night through," he teased lightly, while arching a playful brow in her direction.

"Not a chance…" she smiled, pressing up on her tiptoes and touching her lips to his, "…especially when you're cooking. How long until it's ready?" He pursed his lips and turned his head back to glance towards the stove before answering.

"Twenty minutes or so should do it."

"Time enough for a shower then," she noted, slipping from his arms. She burst out into laughter, as a quick arm circled her waist, pulling her to him, her back pressed to his front. The laughter quickly faded into a shimmering sigh as his lips found the pulse in her neck and lingered there.

"Perhaps a little company?" he susurrated. Tipping her head back to lean it against his shoulder providing more access, she allowed his lips to wander while her hand burrowed itself in his hair, enjoying the trails of sparks left against her skin in his lips wake.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Steele," she said with genuine regret, a bubble of laughter passing her lips at his moan of disappointment when he realized what was coming, "but I believe I've told you before that I expect a gentleman to feed me before I allow him in my boudoir." A single finger at her chin urged her to shift her head to his other shoulder to provide equal treatment to the other side of her neck.

"Ahhhh, but I haven't asked to accompany you to your boudoir, but to your shower," he pointed out, his warm breath against her skin adding to the sensations his lips were already evoking.

"But to get to the bathroom, you have to pass through my boudoir," she countered. With no little remorse, she stood up and turned in his arms, drawing his head down for a fast kiss. "I'll see you in twenty minutes."

"Seems I'm going to have to start buying those hideous TV dinners, ready in five minutes," he called after her.

Her laughter twinkled in the air behind her as she left the room.

* * *

Remington cursed his fate. He and Laura had no more made it through half their meal, while his brain was engaged in any number of ways that they could enjoy the chocolate mousse he'd made for dessert, when the phone rang. That his lovely wife had tried to hide her laughter behind her hand when Monroe demanded his immediate presence at the Burbank store hadn't soothed his irritation one bit, and he left their flat mumbling a string of creative cuss words while threatening to do bodily harm to Monroe for interrupting their anniversary celebration.

The only thing that could possibly annoy him more at the moment, he concluded as he drove the Auburn through the streets of Burbank, was to come home and find his chocoholic wife had devoured the mousse without him there to be the recipient of its pleasurable after effects. Pulling the Auburn up to the curb in front of the store, he noted Monroe's Beemer parked a couple of spots further up the street. Tempted as he was to slam the door of the Auburn as a symbolic gesture of his current mood, his devotion to the vehicle prevent him from doing so. Instead, he circled to the other side of the car, leaned his back end against the passenger side door, and crossed his arms, striking a contrary pose that would indicate his current state of mood well enough. That Monroe strolled casually down the sidewalk towards him, smiling ear-to-ear, only served to darken his mood further.

"Twenty minutes. I must say, I'm impressed, Mick. You must've broken numerous laws in your haste to arrive," Monroe ribbed him. Remington narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"Yes, well, as I told you – or at least attempted to – you called at a very inopportune time," Remington groused. Looking around the area of the store, Remington drew himself up to his full height, his brows furrowing. "Where are the police? They've left before we secured the store?"

"Call me frugal, Mick, but I've no desire to pay the fine associated with calling the police out on a bogus alarm call," Monroe said with amusement. Remington took a threatening step towards his old friend.

"Bogus? Monroe, old mate, you better have a buggering good reason for calling me away from my wife, tonight of all nights, or I quite promise you that row we had in Barbados years back will pale in comparison to what will happen this evening," Remington growled.

"Careful, old friend. Your wife would be quite upset to learn that I'd been harmed in the course of assisting her in her little ploy." Remington took a step back at Monroe's words, then gave a tug of his ear, thoroughly perplexed at what Monroe and Laura were up to.

"Would you mind telling me what in the bloody hell is going on?" he bellowed in irritation. When he took a menacing step towards Monroe in response to his laughter, the other man quickly sobered up and held up his hands in surrender.

"A surprise. That's all I know, I assure you. She simply asked that I devise a ruse to get you out from under her feet for an hour or so." A grin lit Remington's face, as he shoved his hands his pockets, and leaned back against the car.

"A surprise? Come to think of it, she did mention another surprise or two in the offing. I wonder what my devious bride is up to?"

"I assure you, old friend, I've no idea. I suspect she was worried you'd try to beat it out of me if she let me in on what she's up to. I'm merely to detain you long enough to take care of whatever it is she has in mind." Grin widening, Remington glanced up and down the street, then nodded a few doors down across the street.

"A drink, then, while we wait?" he suggested.

"Perhaps a game of billiards as well? I seem to recall that I owe you a sound whipping after our last go round."

The two men hadn't taken more than a couple of steps down the sidewalk when the car phone in the Auburn began to peal. Remington cocked his head towards the car, surprised by the phone's intrusion. Only Mildred and Laura had the number, and knowing it had to be one of them, he held up a finger to Monroe, then returned to the car, bending over the door to pick up the receiver.

"Steele here," Remington said boisterously into the phone. He frowned at the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line. "Yes, Remington Steele… Yes, Mildred Krebs works for me…" He shifted uncomfortably. "She's been what?" Alarm infused his voice. "Where has she been taken? Cedars, yes, I'm familiar it…. A nephew. Yes, yes, I'll contact him straight away… Please tell her my wife and I are on our way."

Monroe watched as Remington strode quickly around the car to slide into the driver's seat. Picking up the phone immediately, he dialed a series of numbers then waited for the person on the other line to pick up.

"Mick, what is it?"

"It's Mildred. She's been injured. The officer gave me no details other than it's serious." He returned his attention to the phone. "Come on, come on, come on, pick up." He blew out a sigh of frustration, then waited impatiently for the message from the answering machine on the other side to play through. "Laura, love, it's me. As soon as you get this message meet me in the Emergency Room at Cedars-Sinai. Mildred's been injured. I've no details yet. Just get there as soon as you can."

Disconnecting the call, he dialed Laura's car phone with no success. Dialing Laura's beeper, he left his number for her to call back. Grunting with irritation, he again placed a call, this time to information and in short order was patched through to Bernard's phone at UC Santa Barbara.

"Bernard, Remington Steele… Bernard, I've just been informed your aunt's been…. Injured. Meet us at Cedars-Sinai as soon as you possibly can… Yes, Laura and I will wait right there until you arrive. I assure you, we aren't going anywhere until we know all is well and that you are there with her…. Yes, see you soon."

Hanging up the phone, Remington engaged the engine, then without so much as a word of goodbye to Monroe, accelerated down the street, the Auburn pointed back to LA and the hospital.

* * *

Laura hummed a pretty little tune to herself as she let herself back into the apartment. She'd packed clothes for both she and Remington for their trip to Cannes that they'd be departing on the next morning at eight a.m. It had taken all she had in her not to laugh when Remington had suggested a week in Cannes should he be the victor in their little wager earlier. Given his disappointment when he lost – which she suspected had far more to do with Cannes than having to watch _The Fugitive_ with her – he clearly had no idea what she had up her sleeve. She laughed a gleeful little laugh at the idea she'd finally pulled one over on her husband.

Remington's unopened present lying on the coffee table reminded her that he actually had two surprises left in store for him. Admittedly, she'd gone a little bit overboard, but she'd simply been unable to help herself. She loved to watch the childlike joy that overtook him whenever he was given a present, unable to believe that anyone would do such a thing for him.

Now, with their bags all packed and safely hidden in the trunk of the limo, she walked toward the bedroom to get ready for bed. The blinking light on the answering machine caught her attention, and she stopped to depress the play button on the machine.

 **'** _ **Laura, love, it's me. As soon as you get this message meet me in the Emergency Room at Cedars-Sinai. Mildred's been injured. I've no details yet. Just get there as soon as you can.** '_

Laura's hand flew to her mouth even as she gasped in alarm. Stripping as she rushed into the bedroom, she yanked a skirt and blouse out of the closet and tossed them on, before hustling into the bathroom to pull her hair back in a quick ponytail. Back in the bedroom, she slid on a pair of heels, before rushing out of the apartment and towards the Rabbit, parked in the garage below.

* * *

The tires of the Rabbit squealed against the pavement as Laura gave the wheel a hard yank, sliding the car into the first available parking place she saw at the Medical Center. Raising the top of the Rabbit, she didn't even notice the dark brown sedan that had followed her from the Rossmore to the hospital until she stepped out of the car, preparing to dart for the closest bank of elevators. The sedan came to a hard stop behind the Rabbit, and she froze in her tracks when she saw the driver of the car get out. Trying to appear calm, she looked around the garage to see if anyone was nearby should she need help.

Not a soul to be found.

She considered the man leaning against the car in front of her, unable to keep a look of absolute distaste off her face or the disdain out of her voice when she spoke.

"What are you… doing here, Tony?" Her voice got caught in her throat and her blood turned to ice when she saw the bouquet of pink dahlia's he held in his hand.

"I'd just pulled up to your apartment building when I saw you coming out of the garage like a bat out of hell. Is everything okay, Laura?" he asked, tossing her what he considered to be his most charming smile.

"You were following me?" she asked, with growing unease, completely ignoring the question he'd posed to her. He rounded his car to stand in front of her, holding the bouquet of flowers out to her.

"For you." he offered. Taking a step back, she crossed her arms across her body and narrowed her eyes at him.

"No, thank you. They're no more wanted than their predecessors," she told him, her voice holding an icy edge. "What are you doing here and why are you following me, Tony?"

"C'mon, Laura. Give a guy a break, would ya? I needed to see you… To explain our little… misunderstanding in Cannes. After everything we've been through together, don't you think you owe me at least a chance to apologize?" Laura gave a little snort of disbelief.

"'After everything we've been through together'?" she asked, outraged. "What exactly is that? Where you conspired with Norman Keyes to separate my husband and I in Mexico? Helped frame Mr. St- … Remington, for murder? Or perhaps the part where you used me to blackmail my husband? Then again, maybe you're referring to your setting him up to be murdered in Paddington Station? By all means, Tony, tell me… Exactly _what_ do I owe you for?"

Taking several steps towards her, Roselli reached out and placed a hand on the side of her face. Instinctively, Laura slapped his hand away from her, tilting up her chin in defiance.

"You and I… we got… close. You know it's true. You wanted me as much as I wanted you… still do," he schmoozed.

"Can it, Tony. How many times do I have to tell you that there's nothing between us? That I don't want you?" She threw her hands up in the air. "Hell, I never did. I was using you as much as you were using me." Roselli stared at her, trying to figure out how to deal with her. This was a side to Laura he'd not seen before: Icy calm, detached, dismissive. Certainly it was not the woman he'd been able to throw off balance with a smarmy smile, a little bit of a lip action.

"That's not true, and you know it. You said yourself in Galway that there's something between us," he reminded her.

* * *

 _ **"I don't believe you. I don't believe you don't feel something for me."**_

 _ **"Alright, I do. Are you happy?"**_

 _ **"Yeah."**_

 _ **"Oh, maybe a year or so ago, if we would have met then, -things would have been different."**_

* * *

"Damn it, Tony. I was angry at Remington. Hurt. _Confused_. That wasn't _me_. I didn't even know who I was any longer, _that was the problem_ ," she explained in vexation. "Almost _anyone_ would have served my purpose at the time. I wanted to make him jealous, to hurt him as he'd hurt me. But it was always about him. You were a pawn in my game as much as I was the same to you in the game you were playing."

"That's not true, Laura. Sure, maybe it started out like that, but you've got feelings for me. You said it yourself." She shook her head adamantly.

"That, Tony, is something I can say with absolute finality is not true. I never had feelings for you. I have loved Remington for almost longer than I can remember. _That never changed_ , that will _never change_. You need to let this fantasy go and leave us alone – both of us!" The last words were said with finality, and she moved to step around him, dismissing him. She gasped with outrage when he grabbed her by the arms. Pulling her to him, he locked a hand on the back of her head, pressing her lips hard against his own. She struggled to get their hands between them, using all her strength to shove him away from her when she felt his tongue touch her lips. "Don't!"

"Why?" he demanded to know. "You know you like it. Stop lying to me… and yourself." Digging his fingers into her forearms, he yanked her back to him again. When his lips descended towards hers this time, she planted a heel firmly in the top of his foot. Fury descended on him, and he slapped her hard, across the face, sending her several steps back and away from him. She clutched her face, even as she stared at him, stunned. "I'm not a pussy like Steele, Laura," he growled at her. "And it would do you good to remember that. I won't put up with your little temper tantrums like he does. You need to learn your place!"

"My place? _My place?_ Who the hell do you think you are? You force yourself into our lives, then when we finally think we're rid of you, _you pop up again_. Well, let me tell you something. I know exactly where 'my place' is and that is at the side of _my partner and my husband_."

"That can be rectified easily enough," Roselli sneered. Her eye's widened at the venom in his voice, the hatred flashing in his eyes.

"Why? Just tell me that. Why do you hate him so much? What has he ever done to you, other than help clear your name?"

"He has a nasty habit of getting in the way of what I want. And in this case, that's you," he bit out, pointing at her. "I told you in Ireland, I'm not giving up on you, Laura. You're mine." Laura threw up her hands in frustration.

"Do you even hear yourself? I'm not chattel. No one owns me. No one has a claim to me unless I choose for them to have that claim. There's only one person that I have given the right to claim me as their own… and that is Remington, _my husband_. What's it going to take to get that through to you? I'm not leaving him… _for any reason_. Most certainly not for you!"

"He trash, Laura. He doesn't deserve you!" She bristled at his words. Drawing herself up to full height, she practically spit her next words at him.

"I've had enough of this insanity. We're done here, Tony. Stay away from me, stay away from my husband, or I promise you, I'll go to MI5, the INS, or whoever it is you're working with now, and tell them all about how one of their precious 'agents' is stalking and threatening my husband and, not to mention has twice now battered me!"

She turned on her heel to leave, only to find herself violently swung around and shoved hard against his car door. She winced as the handle dug deep into her back. Caught off-guard, she was unable to mask her mounting fear fast enough, tightening her lips at the self-satisfaction she saw pass across his face for being the cause of that fear. He pinned both of her hands to the roof of the car, his hands so tight against her wrists that she feared one would break if she struggled too hard. Instead, she settled for staring at him belligerently.

"I don't know what he's done to you, what he's got on you. I'll figure a way out for you, but after? You and me? We're going to deal with this mouth of yours. I won't put up with it. I'll teach you real quick how to talk to a man." Wrists be damned, she instinctively struggled against his hold on her. "Figure out how to get rid of him, Laura, or I'll do it for you.

"Go to hell, Roselli," she spat out. "I meant what I said. I'll go to your superiors, have you fired. Without those connections, how will you stalk other innocent people?" she taunted.

She realized her misstep far too late, as she watched his face turn nearly purple with fury at her threat and cursed her own temper. She scrunched her eyes closed in relief as she heard footsteps echoing off of the pavement of the garage, heading in their direction. Roselli released her abruptly and rounded his car.

"I'll be seeing you around, Laura," he warned, before climbing into the car, slamming the door behind him, then hitting the accelerator, tearing out of the garage with a squeal. Without a glance back, Laura hurried to the elevator banks, only letting her breath go when the doors closed behind her.

Leaning her back against a wall she closed her eyes, trying to rein in the fear that had started pounding through her blood. _He's insane._ The words paraded through her mind like a mantra. Covering her face with her hands she took several deep, soothing breaths knowing if she didn't pull herself together before she met Remington he'd know in a split second that something was amiss. Smoothing back her hair, she grimaced when she saw the bruising already darkening on her wrists. She adjusted her watch on her left hand, then could only hope he wouldn't notice.

When the doors opened in the hospital lobby, an icy calm Laura Steele emerged and made her way swiftly to the emergency department.


	16. Chapter 14: Clarity

Chapter 14: Clarity

Remington sat stooped over in a chair, a hand running across his face for the countless time in the last half of an hour. At the sound of a pair of heels clicking rapidly down the corridor, he turned his head, his relief palpable. He stood just in time to wrap Laura in his arms, holding her tight, drawing on her strength.

"What happened? Do we know? How is she?" She peppered him with questions while leaning back to assess how he was holding up. Seeing the strain around his eyes, the twitching of his jaw, she threaded a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, pressing his head slightly against her hand, drawing every ounce of comfort out of the gesture that he could. He released a deep sigh, some of the tension leaving him.

"A hit and run, that's all I know at the moment." He took a step away from her then began to pace, running a hand through his hair. "I've been waiting for anyone to bring word for a half of an hour now." He raised his voice so that he was sure to be heard at the nursing station down the hall, "But no one seems to think we need to know how she is." Laura closed her eyes and nodded.

"I'm sure as soon as they know anything they'll let us know." She walked over to him and laced her fingers through his. "Come on, let's sit down." She tugged him over to a chair and waited for him to sit, albeit reluctantly, before taking the chair next to him. "Have you called Bernard?" She asked. Running his hand across his face, he nodded his head.

"He's on his way as we speak."

"She's going to be alright, Remington," she told him softly, giving his hand a squeeze. "She has to be. It's Mildred." Turning his head, he lifted frightened eyes to hers, to see his own fear reflected in hers. Lifting her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles.

Both of their heads snapped to attention as they saw one of LAPD's finest approaching them where they sat. Rising, their fingers tightened around each other, fearing the worse, hoping for the best.

"Mr. Steele? Miss Holt?" Remington nodded his head sharply.

"Yes," Laura spoke for the both of them.

"Officer Duchovney. I'm the investigating officer and was with Ms. Krebs when they brought her in." Remington released Laura's hand and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Ms. Krebs is a lucky woman. If she hadn't managed to move just a step before the impact, she wouldn't be with us tonight."

They both closed their eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

"What are we looking at?" Remington asked.

"A broken leg, a concussion and bumps, bruises, abrasions. In a few weeks she'll be as good as new." Duchovney shifted uncomfortably. "I need to ask if you know of anyone that might want to harm Ms. Krebs?"

They looked at each other, appalled.

"Are you saying this wasn't accident?" Laura asked.

"There's no way for us to know that, Miss Holt. It would go a long way in determining if this was an accident or intentional, if you could just answer the question." She glanced at Remington, and both shook their heads in the negative.

"No, I can't imagine anyone who would intentionally harm Mildred. She's rarely involved directly in our cases, and those that she has been of late would pose no threat."

"Are the two of you working on any cases currently that would… inspire… someone to take a hit on one of your staff?" Again, they glanced at one another and again they both shook their heads no.

"At the moment we're handling any number of skip traces, several security contracts, and a couple of run of the mill divorce cases, but nothing that would inspire someone to take revenge upon us," Remington supplied. Duchovney nodded.

"It would seem more than likely, then, that Ms. Krebs was simply in the wrong place at the right time. Likely the work of a drunk driver, would be my guess. We've got an APB out on the vehicle described by Ms. Krebs, although I wouldn't hold out a lot of hope, as she could only provide the general shape of the vehicle and color."

"Any idea when we'll be able to see her?" Remington inquired.

"They're casting her right now. I would say in the next half hour or so," Duchovney supplied. "If you think of anything that might be of concern, I trust you'll contact the station?"

"Of course," Laura assured him. "And thank you for letting us know how she is." He nodded his head at her then departed.

Laura turned to Remington and drew him into her arms. His arms tightened around her, his hand running through the back of her hair. Turning her head, she pressed a kiss to his neck.

"Thank God." She felt him nod against her shoulder. Releasing him, she soothed her hands down his arms. "C'mon, let's go get a cup of tea while we wait." He hummed his response, then palming the small of her back, followed her from the waiting room to the machine located ten paces from the waiting room. While Laura fed the machine coins and pushed a series of buttons to make their selections, he kept his eyes peeled for a doctor or Bernard. The latter appeared first. He closed his eyes and said a small prayer that the floor would open where he stood and swallow him whole when he saw who Bernard had in tow with him.

"Mr. Steele! Mrs. Steele! Where's Aunt Mildred? Is she okay? Okay, God, please don't tell me…" Laura turned to speak with him and froze. Remington took a step forward and held out his hand, taking the younger man's shaking hand in his own, while diverting his eyes from Bernard's companion.

"Broken arm and leg, concussion, various scrapes and bumps. Hit and run, likely a drunk driver according to the investigating officer. We're waiting on the doctor now," Remington summarized concisely. He watched as Bernard wilted before his eyes, his companion turning him into her arms and hugging him.

"See, I told you, she's going to be okay," she soothed him, then looking over his shoulder as she patted his back, connected her green eyes with a pair of blue ones. "Remington," she nodded towards him. He visibly cringed, then pasted a pained smile on his face.

"Clarissa. You're… looking… well," he answered, while take a step back towards Laura and taking the cup of tea she shoved at him. He glanced at her, trying to get a gauge on her emotions and found the carefully blanked look firmly in place. _Furious,_ he surmised.

"Why don't we all go have a seat in the waiting room?" Laura suggested. Clarissa nodded her head in response, and drew Bernard in that direction. The second the pair turned into the room, Laura spun on her heel to face her husband.

"What is _she_ doing here?" she hissed. "Did you know she was coming?" He held a hand out his hands towards her, in a plea of understanding.

"Laura, I assure you, I had no idea she was with Bernard when I called and he never mentioned a thing about it," he told her in a quiet but desperate voice.

"Well, this is just _perfect_ ," she spat in an undertone. "Our focus should be on Mildred and instead I'm forced to play nice with the hooker you tried to marry."

"I hardly have any control on who Bernard was with or who he brought with him. Certainly you don't think I'm foolish enough not to forewarn you if I'd known." She stilled at his words while leaning the back of her hand against her forehead, visibly forcing herself to relax, to gather herself.

"I know, I know," she said resignedly. "But damn it, Remington, every time that woman's come into your life I've found you…" she averted her eyes and let out a frustrated puff of air, "… in a compromising position…" she trailed off.

Giving his ear a tug, he assessed the options she'd allow him to execute without shoving him away. _Bugger it_ , _I need this as much as she,_ he thought to himself as he stepped to her and gathered her in his arms. She stood rigid in his arms for several long seconds, then relaxed into him, her arms finding their way under his, her fingers flexing into shoulders holding tight. She suddenly straightened, her head popping up.

"Rem, the doctor," she told him flicking her eyes over his shoulder. Releasing her, the couple moved into the waiting room where Bernard remained. They watched as Bernard vaulted to his feet in the face of the white coat approaching him.

"Can I see her?" he asked, fear lacing his words. The doctor gave him a nod.

"In just a minute. We wanted to keep her overnight, but she won't hear of it," the doctor provided, as all four parties gathered around him. "She's going to need someone to stay with her tonight, follow concussion protocol. And it's going to be… Difficult for her to get around, at least initially as she gets used to using crutches."

"Mrs. Steele and I will stay with her tonight," Remington volunteered, stepping forward. Bernard gave an adamant shake of his head.

"She's my Aunt. She's taken care of me my whole life. Any time I needed anything she was there, and I'll do the same for her," he insisted. "I'm working on my dissertation now, and I can work on that from Aunt Mildred's as well as I can in Santa Barbara. I'll stay with her until she's back on her feet again."

"Good, good," the doctor acknowledged. "You can see her now, but no more than two at a time. She's still groggy and in quite a bit of pain. I don't want her overwhelmed."

Bernard stepped forward, ready to go with the doctor. Remington looked down at Laura, and with a rub of her hand against his chest, she nodded that he should go as well. With a quick brush of his lips over hers and a squeeze of her hand, he followed the other men from the room. Laura gazed around the room, empty now except for she and Clarissa, and with a deep sigh and a shake of her head, took a seat several chairs down from the red-head. She sat ram rod straight, purse in her lap, suddenly finding her fingernails to be of great interest.

Long minutes ticked away. As tension filled as the air in the room was, Laura found herself increasingly annoyed that she was actually able to hear those minutes tick away as the second hand on the clock tick-tick-ticked in the silence. Several times she glanced down the hall to see if Remington was returning, only to see various hospital personnel and a patient or two meandering through them. Unknowingly, she sighed deeply even as her foot tapped rapidly on the floor beneath it.

Clarissa was the first to break the silence.

"Miss Holt?" she asked began tentatively.

"Mrs. Steele," Laura responded automatically, a terse edge to her voice as she again scanned the hall for Remington. _More than likely drawing out the visit as long as he can, dreading facing me after leaving me alone with her._ She snorted quietly.

"Mrs. Steele," Clarissa corrected, before rushing on. "I was really happy when Bernard told me you and Rem-…" she stumbled on his name when Laura's head snapped in her direction with a scowl marking her features. "… you and Mr. Steele had gotten married."

"Were you?" Laura asked, raising a skeptical brow towards her, before letting out a little puff of air and looking away again.

"Yes, I really was," Clarissa continued on. She wilted a little in the wake of the deafening silence in the room. Wringing her hands in her lap, she tried again. "Mrs. Steele, I just need you to know that I thought I was doing what was right at the time…"

"Were you?" Laura asked, her voice sharper than she intended, but offered no apology for it. "Were you aware that he and I… that we… Oh hell," she cursed in frustration, "Did you know that he and I were involved?" Clarissa flushed, but acknowledged she did with a nod.

"Last year, when you helped me out with my… little problem, I… I… made him an offer, in a way. Not as a customer," she rushed on, "but simply because I found him extraordinarily kind… and attractive..."

"You did, did you?" Laura bit out. Lifting her hand to her left brow, she began to knead it even as she held up her other hand, indicating Clarissa should stop speaking. "Please, I've heard enough."

"He turned me down flat," Clarissa continued on, as though she hadn't heard Laura or seen the gesture. "he told me that he had his sights set on other shores. When you came by the apartment later that night and were so upset, and Rem-… Mr. Steele was so… so desperate to explain what I was doing there, I knew exactly who that other shore was."

Laura felt a little of her fury ebb at the other woman's words "He said that?" she queried.

"Yes, he did," Clarissa asserted.

"So, if you knew he and I were involved how could you agree to marry him? Why didn't you tell him in unequivocal terms that he should come tell me what was happening? Do you have any idea what it was like to walk in on that… to see… to watch…" Her stomach lurched at the memory, her hand clutching the arm rest of the chair so hard her knuckles turned white. "I can't do this," she mumbled to herself.

"I practically begged him to tell you, but he said he couldn't. That if he asked you to marry him under those… circumstances… he'd lose you and that was the one thing he was unwilling to do. I thought… I thought I was helping." Clarissa held up her hands in a helpless gesture then let them fall back down to her lap again. "If it helps any," she offered feebly, "he made it clear the minute he asked me to help him out that it would never be anything more than a business arrangement between us; that even if it took him the entire two years to get you to forgive him, there would be no one else but you."

Laura closed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest, rocking slightly. She felt that last bit of doubt that she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto crumble away. He'd been telling her the truth from the very start: as stupid as his decisions had been during that time, he'd done it out of desperation to remain with her. The thought of him, the man who found it so difficult to voice his feelings, having to, in essence, pour his heart out to Clarissa in order to perpetuate a fraud upon the INS left her aching for him. It was only now that she understood how truly desperate he'd been. To stay. With her. She sunk her teeth into her lower lip at the sudden onslaught of emotion.

"Laura?" the hesitancy in the voice coming from in front of her had her flicking her eyes open. Without thought, she raised to her feet and stepped into his arms. His arms clasped around her, drawing her close.

"How is she?"

"Singing the glories of pain medications at the moment. It's really quite the sight. I don't believe I've ever seen Mildred quite so… jaunty." The relief in his voice was palpable, leading her to give him a gentle squeeze. "She's asked to see the both of us together, if you're up to it."

Leaning back, she gave him a queer look at his choice of words. Then seeing his eyes alight on Clarissa only to twitch away to the other side of the room while he shifted slightly from foot-to-foot, she understood. Laying her head back against his shoulder, she said quietly against his neck so only he could hear, "It's okay, Rem. We're okay." He blew out the breath he'd been holding as she felt him nod his head. "Let's go see Mildred."

Stepping out of his embrace, she threaded the fingers of her hand with his. As he led her down the hallway to the room where Mildred was ensconced, he gave her fair warning. "She's a bit… discombobulated. Be prepared. It's quite… interesting… trying to keep up with the many directions of her mind and she's quite… er… exuberant. Just be prepared to take cover," he told her vaguely. Pushing open a door on their right, he handed her in to the room.

"Mrs. Steele!" Mildred exclaimed when she saw Laura. Turning to Bernard, she gave him an exaggerated wink. "The two of them," she hitched a thumb towards Remington and Laura, "got married ya know. 'Bout time too. I was beginning to think I was gonna have to bop their heads together and lock them in a room somewhere until they decided to stop all their games. Always trying to outdo one another… always trying to make the other cave first… always…." Laura rolled her eyes, then stepped forward to give Mildred a hug.

"How _are you,_ Mildred?" she interrupted.

"You aren't going to distract me, Mrs. Steele," she wagged a finger at her, then returned her attention to Bernard. "Both of them moping about, him in love with her, her in love with him, and both terrified to admit it. So whatta they do? I'll tell you what. She tucks tails and runs; he gets crazy ideas in his head about how to win her over without telling her how he feels. Back-and-forth, up-and-down, getting close then pushing one another away. The dance they did around each other made me positively dizzy at times." Wagging a finger at Bernard until he bent his head down next to her, she pseudo-whispered, loud enough for anyone in the hall to hear. "They're like my kids, you know, the two of them. But don't tell them that. And just like they were my own, there were days I wanted to send them to their rooms until they could play nice with one another again." She nodded her head vigorously. "Nothing's changed since they got married, you know. When they aren't fighting the two of them are sneaking off to his office or hers to get in a little necking, all the while thinking no one is any more the wiser…"

"Mildreddddddddddddd," they both whined in unison, then cringed at the sounds of their own voices. Laura scrunched up her nose while Remington tugged on his ear, both of them squirming like teenagers who were caught making out on the front porch by their parents.

"They both blush furiously when I catch them at it, ya know," she continued to prattle on, as Bernard laughed, watching the couple flush even as she spoke. "and jump apart, trying to pretend nothing was going on, but they can't fool old, Krebs, no siree…"

"Mildred, how did bowling go tonight?" Laura asked in desperation, hoping to change the subject. Mildred turned to flash her a thousand watt smile.

"We won the league championship tonight you know," Mildred answered puffing up her chest. "Thanks a good deal to my own outstanding play if, I do say so myself. Speaking of plays, did I ever tell you about the time I played Emily in _Our Town_? I was pretty darned good. Maybe not as good as I was as a fraud investigator for the IRS. That reminds me, Bumpers is coming to town and we have ourselves a hot date for tomorrow night. I don't know how hot it will be now though, all banged up like I am. Guess we'll have to stay home and see if we can start a little fire…" she tossed Laura a salacious wink. Laura flashed her a bemused smile. "I'll tell you all about it… gal-to-gal."

"I look forward to it," Laura told her, patting Mildred's hand. "The important thing is for you to get better."

"So I can get back to work." She suddenly appeared downtrodden, her mouth dipping at the corners. "Oh, Mrs. Steele, I didn't mean to let you down. I know I was supposed to keep the office running while you whisked the Chief away on the hot little weekend of you planned for the two of you." Quick as a flash her mood changed again and she gave Laura another wink as Laura scrunched up her face, then with a sideways glance at Remington confirmed he had not only heard, but had taken great interest.

"Oh?" Remington hummed, pretending only mild interest, "Where was Mrs. Steele 'whisking me' off to Mildred?"

"Mr. Steele," Laura scolded, then turned to Mildred and hurriedly tried to redirect her focus. "Don't worry about the office, Mildred. Mr. Steele and I will make sure it's covered." But Mildred had latched onto Remington's words and her attention was fully focused on him now.

"Ah, think you're a smart one don't you? Hoping I'll spill the beans because of a little bit of medication," she wagged her finger at Remington. "Uh-uh. Nothin' doin'." She turned to Bernard. "You gotta watch these two, Bernard. They can trick people out of their secrets quicker than a whore can get out of her clothes…"

"Mildred!" Laura blurted out, stunned.

"Good Lord," Remington muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Laura, perhaps we should go so Mildred can get her rest?" he asked swiftly, while giving her a look that clearly said _I told you to be prepared._ Laura leapt to her feet at the suggestion, ready to tuck tail and flee before the next round could begin.

"Mildred, we'll stop by your house in the morning to check on you before we head into the office," she told her, leaning over to give her a hug. Remington stepped up and embraced their loyal major domo and friend.

"There aren't appropriate words to express how glad Laura and I are that you're still here with us." Mildred reached up and patted him fondly on his cheek as tears glistened in her eyes.

"Someone has to make sure the two of you take care of each other," she answered, trying to shrug it off.

"And you do a fine job of it," he said on a misty voice. Clearing his throat, he held out his arm to his wife. "Shall we, Mrs. Steele?"

Laura allowed him to escort her from the room, then turned to him in the hall to stroke her fingers through the side of his hair. "She's going to be alright, Rem," she told him quietly. His hands moved to her hips to pull her near enough to rest his forehead against hers.

"I know," he agreed, then took a deep breath, finding his balance again. "Home then?" She nodded then took a step back, twining her fingers with his as they walked down the hall.

Remington lost her to her thoughts as they traversed the halls on their way to the bank of elevators that would take them to the parking garage. He glanced at her a couple of times, trying to ascertain what had caused the sudden distance, but refrained from asking, knowing she'd talk when she was ready.

A battle raged within her. On the one hand, she had zero desire to find out if Roselli was still lurking in the parking garage, lying-in-wait for a second round of threats and intimidation. On the other hand, it irritated her to no end that the man had gotten to her enough that she was strongly considering suggesting that she and Remington ride home together and pick up the other car in the morning. She hadn't fully made up her mind until his finger depressed the call button for the elevator. Pride or not, she had made Remington a promise in the not too distant past, that she wouldn't take risks with her safety that were unnecessary. She closed her eyes then opened them again before speaking.

"Remington, would you mind if we rode home together tonight?" He squeezed her hand before handing in her into the elevator when the doors slid open.

"I'd prefer company myself this evening," he admitted, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss against her knuckles. His brows rose, and he turned her hand over to look closer. "What happened to your wrist, love?"

 _Damn_ , she thought to herself at his query and questioning look. It took every ounce of her concentration not to scrunch up her face in response. She'd forgotten, briefly about the bruising on her wrists. The bruising on her left wrist was relatively concealed by her watch, but her right had been left fully exposed. Now that he'd mentioned the bruising, she could feel the tenderness of her upper arms and left cheekbone. She squelched the urge to sigh. Unwilling to lie to him, she said the only thing that came to mind.

"Now's not the time or place. We'll talk about it when we get home." Remington opened his mouth to protest then closed it, sensing that whatever the "it" was, he was not going to like it. His jaw twitched as he nodded his agreement.

"Very well," he answered in a clipped voice. This time, Laura did sigh. His tone clearly said that he'd read her reticence to elaborate far too easily. By the time they reached home, he would be fully on edge and what she had to tell him would push him straight over it.


	17. Chapter 15: Secrets Revealed

Chapter 15: Secrets Revealed

The ride home was as tense as it was seemingly long. They spoke sporadically about Mildred, repeating their mutual relief that she'd recover relatively quickly with no lasting effects, yet the conversation that loomed ahead hung between them. By the time they arrived home and shut out the world behind them with the closing of the apartment door, both of their nerves were frayed: His out of fear of what she could not tell him at the hospital, she because of the explosion that was bound to come.

Setting his keys down on the entry way table next to the purse Laura had dropped there, Remington shoved his hands in his pockets and watched his wife. Noting the hand that had already made it to her brow and the other hand perched at her hip as she stared at their wedding picture across the room, he rubbed his hand across his mouth. Walking into the dining room, he poured each of them a couple of fingers of scotch, then crossed the room to her to hand her hers.

"What happened to your wrist, Laura?" he asked without preamble. She leaned her head back to look at the ceiling, still not facing him.

"I'd rather start at the beginning, if you don't mind," she offered in a strained voice. He sank down into a chair at her words, bracing himself before she even began.

"Of course, by all means," he answered, the snotty British tones out in full force. She lifted both hands in frustration, then dropped them down at her sides and began to pace.

"It started Saturday, after my run at the beach…" she began, then faltered. Trying to gather her thoughts, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, then took a long pull on the scotch before setting it down on the dining room table. Remington turned in his seat to watch her.

" _What_ started?" he asked tersely. Dropping her hand from her forehead, she planted both hands on her hips and glared at him, with a flash of temper.

"That's not helping," she bit out. He held up his hands to her.

"I'm sorry, go on." She took a deep breath.

"When I got back to the car there was…" she scrunched up her face, then let out a deep breath, knowing the explosion was right around the corner, "… a flower, a pink dahlia, stuck in my steering wheel…"

"Damn it, Laura, how many times do I have to say: secure the car if you're going to be away from it for a…" He stopped in his tracks again at her glare, holding up his hands once more. "I'm sorry, continue, please."

"I didn't think much about it at first. There was no one in the parking lot that appeared suspicious. I finally just wrote it off to someone leaving it at the wrong car, or someone trying to spread a little cheer." She paused a moment to rub her brow again, before continuing. "Then Saturday night when Frances stopped by, she found another flower laying outside our door…" Remington abruptly stood up and turned to stare hard at her. She rolled her eyes off to the side, refusing to meet his gaze. "It was another pink dahlia. No note, nothing…. I threw it away."

Remington stood, watching her, saying not a word as a hand kneaded the back of his neck. She glanced at him, then seeing the intensity of the blue eyes leveled on her, looked away and began to pace again.

"On Sunday, after you left for your… appointment… with Astrid, I went for a run. It was late, at least for me, and I didn't get back home until around nine. When I got off the elevator, I saw it. Another flower, but this time…"

"Bloody hell, Laura, are we back there again? Another secret admirer? And you didn't tell me? I thought we were through with keeping secrets from one another!"

"Please," she ground out loudly, drawing out the word in her agitation. "Just let me finish and then you can yell and point out my every misstep when I'm done." Breathing hard, he planted his hands on his hips, then clenching his jaw unconsciously simply nodded, and flicked his hand at her to continue. He began to pace.

"This time there was an envelope with the flower. No note, nothing that would tell me who it was. The envelope held the picture of you and Astrid dancing at the country club. I went downstairs and asked Charlie if he'd seen anyone out of place that evening. He hadn't but admitted he'd stepped away for a little while." Her eyes flicked towards him, then away. "Monday morning, I had Mildred start checking on the usual suspects…" She paused when Remington whirled around to face her, the combined look of anger and hurt stealing the words from her mouth. "Rem…" He should his head adamantly at her.

"Let's hear the rest Laura. You told _Mildred_ …"

"Only because I needed her help," she defended her actions with a plea for understanding in her voice. "I needed her to find out where our… enemies… currently were; to check the florists…" Her words tapered off when he turned his back to her and went to lean on an arm against the fireplace, brushing his free hand forcefully through his hair. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she sighed, then continued on.

"Monday night I stayed late to work at the office. You'd just left, no goodbye and… it stung. I purposefully waited until you'd be on the way to meet Astrid before I went home. It was around seven-thirty when I packed it in for the night. As I was leaving the office, I saw them: Another dahlia, another envelope laying on her desk." Pausing, she wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms briskly as she remembered how she'd felt in that moment. "I asked Ralph to accompany me to my car…"

This time, Remington couldn't contain himself. Rarely, in their years together, had he yelled at her – really yelled. The instances were so few and far between, that when he did, she'd invariably take a step back it would stun her so, as she did now. She wrapped her arms even more tightly about herself, and could only watch as he vented his fury with the situation, with her.

"Whoever is doing this was in our offices… alone… _with you_ … and still you didn't tell me what was happening?! Need I remind you, Laura, the last time you decided to go something like this on your own, your deranged suitor tried to kill me and held you against your will?! Did you learn nothing, woman?! Do you realize whoever this is could have hurt you… or even worse…" his words caught in his throat at the thought and he had to clear his throat to continue his rant, "… if they so chose and you would have been alone, with no one to help? Damn it, Laura! You promised me…" His words trailed off and he stared at her, before flicking a hand at her and, wresting open the terrace doors, he stormed away.

She stared at the empty doorway for several minutes before venturing outside. She found him leaning against his arms on the wall of the terrace, looking out into the inky night.

"Remington…" She reached out to lay a hand on his back, but withdrew her hand when she felt him tense at her touch.

"How many more times, Laura?" he asked resignedly. Shaking her head, she crossed the terrace to perch on the side of the lounge chair there.

"Nothing yesterday," she took a deep, shuddering breath. "Then tonight, in the hospital garage…" She pressed the fingers of both hands against her forehead, partially covering her eyes, not even realizing she'd begun to rock herself, seeking comfort. "… A car pulled up behind mine as soon as I parked. He was holding a bouquet of pink dahlias… tried to give them to me…"

Remington felt his heart drop to his toes at the realization she'd been utterly alone when whoever it was had made their appearance. Spinning around to look at her, he felt like someone had punched him in the gut, when he saw his wife, covering her face, rocking herself.

"Laura…" he said quietly. Dropping her hands from her face, he ached at the sight of fear and guilt clashing in the brown eyes he adored.

She wrapped her arms around herself, the pace of her rocking increasing, only managing one word. "Roselli."

Red hot fury descended on him in the blink of an eye. Staring at her, he took a step backwards when his eyes flicked to her wrists then to her face, and he put it all together. "That buggering bastard put his hands on you again, didn't he?" His voice rose when she averted her eyes from his. "Lauraaaaaaaa…"

Her own formidable temper piqued. Leaping up from the lounge, she began to brusquely pace across the terrace. With a hard shake of her head and a small growl, she threw up her arms. "Yes! A couple of times if you must know! Oh, he started out with trying to lay the charm on thick. Took exception to me slapping him when he kissed me. Didn't particularly for it when I told him I'd report him to the INS, MI5… whoever it is he really works for! So, yes! He put his hands on me! But I handled it… I handled _him_!" She refused to acknowledge that if someone hadn't come walking towards them it would have gotten worse, likely much worse.

Remington watched as she paced, venting her fury, knowing that her temper was often at its finest when she was afraid or injured. Hand held over his mouth, he continued to eye her in disbelief. In three quick strides he stood before her, and he nudged her towards the living room doors. "Come on, inside. I want to take a look at you."

"I'm fine," she insisted, her anger fizzling, leaving her suddenly weary. "I'm not worried about me…"

"Never the less, I intend to have a look," he insisted as they sat down on the sofa. Picking up her right hand, he turned it over, giving it a closer look, then slipping her watch off her left, his jaw twitched as he saw more bruising there. "Where else?"

"Remington, really, I'm fine. You don't need to do this. We need to figure out what we're going to do about him…"

"Where else, Laura?" he asked more firmly. Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head knowing he would keep at her until she caved.

"My arms, back." He nodded and tugged her blouse from the waist of her skirt then slid the buttons loose.

"Off with it then," he ordered quietly. With a sigh, she slipped the shirt off, watched as his eyes zeroed in on the bruising on her upper arms. She grimaced when she realized the individual marks from Roselli's fingertips could clearly be seen.

"That son of a bitch," Remington muttered, as he lightly touched the marks. "Turn around then." She did and he fingered the bruise left by the door handle as well. "It's time to end this, Laura. Well past time, really."

"I know," she agreed, slipping back on her shirt and buttoning it. "But the question is how. I suppose we could start with the information Murphy dug up on Roselli's involvement in Keyes's murder."

"That's a start. Perhaps we also follow up on your suggestion to Roselli: Make it known to MI5, the INS, that Roselli is harassing and threatening us. Meyerson might be of some help there, at least with the INS," he suggested.

"I agree. And in the meantime? He's following _us_ , Remington, not just me. The pictures of you and Astrid? Those are his handiwork as well," she reminded him. "Just like Cannes, _I had no idea_ I was being followed, did you?" He scrubbed at his face with his hand.

"No, none at all," he admitted. He glanced at his watch. "Can you get Murphy on the line, see about getting the information on Roselli and Keyes to us?"

"It's early enough, I don't see why not," she agreed. He stood and headed for the front door. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"To Monroe's. To see about getting some eyes other than Roselli's watching our backs," he answered. Laura frowned at him. "Not for long, mind you. Just long enough for us to get a handle on how we've both missed him straight along. Another set of eyes, nothing more."

"I won't have them interfering with our work, Remington," she firmly warned. "If that happens, we're pulling the plug, do you understand?"

"Yes, yes, I understand," he agreed opening the door, then pausing, closed the door, to stride back across the room and lean down to brush his lips across hers. "I'll be back shortly. Lock the door behind me and let no one in." Laura frowned at the directive.

"I may have been caught off guard, Remington, but let me remind you, that doesn't mean I don't know what to do. I've been at this a long time…" He touched his lips against hers again, smiling as he did so.

"You don't need to remind me of your capabilities, Miss Holt," he told her, drawing her up from the couch, and lowering his lips to hers again. "You've had a little longer than I to digest all of this. Give me a little time to catch up and just humor me for a bit, eh?" he requested, brushing his lips over her cheek. She pursed her lips while considering him, feeling his tension, seeing in his eyes the anger for what Roselli had done simmering under the surface.

"A little time," she acquiesced, "with the understanding that the last thing I need is you trying to play white knight to my damsel in distress. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Bussing her on the forehead, her released her and headed out the door. Dutifully, though with a small snort and a roll of her eyes, she locked up behind him.

* * *

Remington alternated between fury and fear on his way to Monroe's apartment. Recalling the bruises on Laura, his hands shook with the need to plant a fist in Roselli's face, his body, over and over again. He'd barely contained his rage the first time Roselli had mishandled her in Cannes. This however? Intolerable. The man had cornered his petite wife, had harmed and threatened her. Although not a man prone to violence, he would gladly put his hands around the man's neck and squeeze until the last breath left his body.

He scrubbed at his face at the thought of her alone with the man. He had no doubt that Roselli had set off his petite partner's formidable temper. She would be unable not to provoke the man further, determined to stand her ground. Roselli could have done anything he had wanted to her, with no one any the wiser. By the time anyone knew something was amiss, it could have been too late. Remington's heart pounded in his chest at the mere thought.

He couldn't help but remember the time after Wally had stalked her. Oh, she'd thought she hid it well enough, but he saw the toll the experience had taken on her. While she able, easily enough, to affect that icy calm exterior of hers during the day, she couldn't hide the circles under her eyes from too little sleep. He never revealed to her that he was aware of the nightmares that plagued her. For weeks afterwards when they'd spend their weekends together, he held her shaking in his arms, trying to find her in her dreams and soothe her with his touch, with quiet words. He'd lie awake long after she calmed, found solace in her dreams, hearing over-and-over again in his mind the words she would mumble while she was locked in the grasp of the nightmares and the aching, fear-filled voice on which they were spoken: 'Mr. Steele', 'No, Wally, don't', and the worst of all of them, the long drawn out, 'please.' He'd have given anything never to see something injure her in such a way again, yet there he'd been, out romancing Astrid Covington while Roselli had watched her, waited, for the perfect time.

By the time he was standing in front of Monroe's door, knocking on it, his warring emotions were getting the better of him.

"Mick, what brings you here?" Monroe asked, upon swinging open the door. "How is Mildred?"

"What? Mildred?" he asked, confused, then the events of the evening prior to Laura's revelations returned to mind. "Mildred. Yes, yes, she'll be fine. Broken leg, banged up a bit, but all-in-all, quite lucky."

"That's good to hear." Remington shifted on his feet.

"Can I come in, or do you plan to leave me standing about in the hall all evening?" Remington finally ground out. Monroe tossed back his head and laughed.

"Just waiting for you to ask, my friend. Come on in." Monroe held the door open wider, then closed it behind Remington. Remington glanced around the apartment.

"Is Jocelyn not here?"

"Much to my dismay, no she isn't. She had a job in Chicago. I'll be welcoming her home tomorrow." He watched as Remington paced, then walked towards the bar. "Perhaps a snifter of brandy to cure whatever ails you, Mick?" Remington waved away the offer, then rubbed the same hand across his face.

"I need your help, mate." The words had not come easily, and Monroe picked up on their angst filled undertone. He regarded his friend at length, growing serious as he turned to lean his backside against the bar while crossing his arms.

"What going on, old friend?"

"It's a bit of a story," Remington hedged. Monroe simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I believe we've already addressed the fact that I am alone on the evening, so it would appear that I have plenty of time," Monroe pointed out. Remington gave him a terse nod, then swiping a hand through his hair, began.

"It began when Laura and I arrived in Mexico for our honeymoon…" Remington provided Monroe all the pertinent details while not divulging his wife's brief flirtation with the man. When he concluded relaying past events, he slumped heavily down on a chair, bowing his head, and rubbing his hands up and down his face.

"He's harmed our girl?" Monroe sought to confirm, outraged. Remington's lips twitched at Monroe's use of 'our'. In the world they had both come from, there was a creed among fellow miscreants, that harm to one was harm to all.

"Twice now."

"He threatened her."

"Again, twice now."

"He threatened you?" Remington nodded, growing exasperated.

"Yes, yes, I've told you this. Even hoped to eliminate me altogether in London." Monroe nodded his head, shoving his hands in his pockets and crossing the room.

"What do you need, Mick?" Relief swamped Remington at the words. He'd never doubted Monroe would come to their aid, but had rather figured Monroe would make him grovel a bit, just for fun.

"Eyes on our backsides, to start. Someone to keep a sharp eye for anyone else that appears to be doing the same."

"Done. Around the clock?"

"Until we're home for the evenings should suffice."

"I know just the men for the job. Anything else?" Remington swiped at his face. He'd been back and forth on the matter, knowing Laura would be furious if she found out, but at end of the day, he'd rather incur her wrath than to see her harmed.

"A second man on Laura whenever she's not with me. I'll not have the man laying another finger on her, not if I have the power to prevent it."

"Consider it done." Monroe nodded briskly.

"One more thing. If your men spot Roselli, and he is within reach, they are to stop tailing us and… detain the man. Antony Roselli and I need to have a little… talk. It's time he understood that if he comes anywhere near my wife again, he'll not enjoy the repercussions." Remington's eyes narrowed with determination as he spoke. Monroe nodded with understanding.

"Have you a description of Roselli that I can provide the men?"

"Six-two, two hundred pounds. Beefy. Clothes off the rack. Brown, curly hair worn on the long side. Cleft in the chin. Have you a pen and paper I can use for a moment." Monroe went to the desk to retrieve the requested items and handed them to Remington. He sat back down to wait until Remington finished whatever it was that he was writing. Finishing up and hoping it provided enough detail, he handed the pad and pen to Monroe.

"I'd not idea you could do this, Mick," Monroe remarked with a whistle of admiration for the quick portrait of Roselli he'd been provided.

"Yes, well, never mind that. It's the best that can be done at the moment. Make sure your men are each familiar with him." Glancing at his watch, he moved towards the front door. "I need to get back home, I've been gone far too long as it is." Opening the door he looked back at Monroe. "Tomorrow morning then?"

"They'll be there, you have my word," Monroe promised, while rising to follow Remington to the door, then lay his hand on Remington's shoulder. "Mick, we won't let anything happen to our girl. I give you my word on that."

"Thanks, mate." Remington wrapped an arm around Monroe's back and slapped his back a couple of times before making his departure.

* * *

After Remington left, Laura reclaimed her glass of scotch and took a couple of sips on her way into their bedroom. Stripping back out of her suit, she slipped on the shirt Remington had worn to the office that day. Turning her head while lifting the collar, she breathed deep his scent and felt herself relax, just slightly. Sliding up onto their bed, she settled in against the backboard, while picking up her glass and taking another sip as she stared at the phone. Admonishing herself silently – _It's just Murphy, Holt_ – she finally picked up the receiver of their phone and dialed his number. The phone rang several times, before it was picked up.

"Michaels." Murphy's voice came across the line. Laura laughed softly and rolled her eyes at the greeting.

"You're sounding more and more like Remington every day, Murph," she teased, knowing his hackles would rise at the comparison.

"Over my dead body," came his automatic response. "To what do I owe the honor of your call, partner?" Laura pursed her lips and flicked an invisible piece of lint off of Remington's shirt.

"I need all the information you collected on Roselli's collusion with Keyes as well as Roselli's involvement in his murder," she told him without formality. On the other side of the line, Murphy sat up, dropping his feet the floor, at full attention as his instincts warned him something new had occurred.

"Of course. What's going on, pal?" Her frustrated sigh on the other side of the line told him his instincts had been dead on.

"He's in L.A. He's been following Remington and I for God only knows how long…" she told him, before her words trailed off.

"What else?"

"He's been delivering flowers to me… one at a time. In my car at the beach, twice at the apartment door…" she grimaced before she said the next, knowing how Murphy would react, "… once on Mildred's desk at the Agency while I was there alone."

"Damn it, Laura! Anything could have happened…"

"I know, Murphy," she answered, her voice terse as she cut him off. "I don't need another round of this. I've already heard it all from Remington."

"Is there more?" he demanded to know. Sinking her teeth into her lip she frowned.

"He cornered me tonight…" In Denver, Murphy reared to his feet, furious.

"Damn it, Laura," he interrupted on a shout, "where was Steele while Roselli was cornering you? Why the hell wasn't he there to protect y-…." Laura saw red at his words.

"Murphy," she interrupted this time, her voice terse, "Don't! Don't start looking for a way to blame Remington for this. I hadn't told him what was going on, because I didn't want to worry him before I had more information. Believe me, if he _had known_ he would have made me crazy, never letting me out of his sight. Even if he had, neither of us could have predicted Roselli showing up in the hospital parking garage as he did. Now, can we just move on to the matter at hand? I need that information as soon as you can get it to me."

Murphy rubbed his chin while shaking his head. "Look, partner, I can be on the next plane out there…"

"There's no need, Murph. Remington and I already have a plan worked out," she assured him.

"Then at least let me do some digging. I set this aside when it looked like Roselli had vanished from your life."

"If you could, that would be wonderful. It would allow us to focus on the Mexico angle and another idea we've come up with."

"Whatever I can do to help. Look, I'll overnight the paperwork to you first thing in the morning. You'll have it Friday morning." He paused, his concern evident in his voice when he spoke again. "Laura, are you really okay?"

"I'm fine, Murph, I promise. We just want to end this with Roselli so we can go on with our lives." Rubbing his chin again on the other side of the line, he nodded though unconvinced.

"Alright, pal. Paperwork on the way to you tomorrow and I'll let you know anything else I find out about Roselli." He paused for a second, considering, then thought to himself, _To hell with it._ "Laura, one phone call and I'll be there."

"Thanks, Murph," Laura said sincerely. "But I'm sure Remington and I will have this wrapped up in no time. We've faced bigger adversaries than Roselli."

"I hope so. Talk to you soon."

"Bye, Murph."

Hanging up the phone Laura stood and wandered out into the living room. Picking up their nearly untouched glasses of scotch, she emptied them out in the kitchen sink, cleaned the glasses and after drying them, put them away. Returning to the living room, she planted two fists on her hips and thought about the nearly perfect day that had been turned upside down. Right now, she and Remington should be preparing for bed, sated by an afternoon of making love and a good meal afterwards. She should be anticipating the look on his face in the morning when she announced to him that they were heading to the South of France for a long weekend in honor of the anniversary of his appearance in her life. Instead, Mildred should be on her way home from the hospital and Roselli was God only knows where.

She allowed herself a groan of frustration. After securing the terrace doors, she turned off the living room lights, and adjourned to their bedroom, fishing the latest romance novel she was reading out of the bedside table and curling up with it, only to find, after reading the same page for the dozenth time nearly an hour later, that even the steamy love scenes failed to keep her mind occupied. Relief flowed through her when she heard the front door open and close, and the familiar sound of Remington's keys being tossed on the entryway table. Gladly, she opened the drawer to her nightstand and tossed her book back in it, pushing herself up to lean against the headboard in time to flash a smile at her husband as he entered the room. He walked across the room and brushed his lips against hers, before moving towards his dresser to pull out a pair of pajama bottoms.

"How did things go with Monroe?" she asked as he walked into the bathroom and she heard him turn on the sink faucet.

"Fine, fine," he said, clearly talking around the toothbrush in his mouth. "Two of his men will start watching each of us first thing tomorrow. Hopefully, one of them will pick up on Roselli rather quickly."

"Murphy's sending us all the documentation on Roselli and Keyes. It will be here Friday," she filled him in, as she listened to him tapping out his toothbrush on the corner of the sink.

"Good to know," he called back, before emerging from the bathroom. Tossing his clothes into the hamper, he crossed the room and slid into bed next to her. She waited until he settled, then stretched out across the width of the bed, laying her head in his lap. Taking his hand in hers, she began tracing the lines of his palm. She sat up suddenly and turned to look at him before scrambling off the bed and leaving the room.

"Laura?" he called to her. _What in the devil's gotten into her,_ he wondered. He found out, in short order, when she returned carrying the still wrapped, large box from where it had been left on the coffee table. Dropping it down on the bed, she pushed it towards him, before climbing up onto the bed to sit.

"You never got around to opening it," she reminded him. Her dimples flashed as he sat up and examined the gift with childlike excitement. Lifting the box, he gave it a shake, while flashing her a dimple himself.

"I can clearly rule out a tie," he joked. Raising a brow at her, he tore back a strip of paper slowly, laughing as she cringed.

"Alright, Mr. Steele, you've had your fun," she scolded. "Open it." Taking her at her word, he tore apart the paper with zeal, laughing again as her face scrunched up as though in pain. With a roll of her eyes, she shook her head. Popping open the tape on the box he opened the flaps, then gave her a toothy grin.

"What have we here, Mrs. Steele?" He wagged his brows at her playfully.

"Something I believe we both agreed is a must-have."

"Indeed we did," he confirmed, fingering the fabric of the hammock. "Had I known you had this little surprise in store, I would have offered the owners another twenty-five thousand to move out tomorrow." His grinned widened at her delighted laugh.

"I am sure you would have. But just think of the anticipation Mr. Steele," she teased.

"After four years of anticipation," he reminded her with the lift of a brow, "I find myself suddenly and passionately in favor of gratification of the instant kind." Tipping her head, she cast him a speculative look.

"Are you saying this wasn't worth the wait?" Picking up the box, he dropped it on the floor next to the bed, then swept the paper off of the bed after it. Giving her hand a tug, he leaned back against the backboard and waited for her to stretch out again. Only when his hand was held in hers and she was tracing his fingers and palms with a single finger, did he address her question.

"Do you not know I'd have waited the rest of my life to have this?" He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before stroking her cheek with his fingers.

"Luckily, for both of us, you didn't have to, or we'd both have gone stark, raving mad," she told him with a laugh, while tilting her head back to smile up at him. She gave a little sigh as his fingers threaded through her hair. "Remington?"

"Hmmmm?"

"What Mildred said earlier about me 'whisking you away for the weekend'?" he tipped his head down to look at her, a brow darting upwards out of curiosity. "Given what's happened to Mildred and… Roselli… I don't know if this is the best time for us to be thousands of miles away."

"As much as I would love to have you to myself for a few days, I have to agree with you on that," he admitted, though with a great deal of reluctance. "Care to tell me where you were planning for us to go?" She thought about it, then gave her shoulders a small shrug. _No point in him not knowing now,_ she thought wistfully.

"The villa."

"It will still be there when these matters have been resolved. Although, I must say, a few days of sun, sand…you to myself…" She nodded her agreement.

"I know. I'm sorry." Her voice held both regret and an apology. She glanced up at him then returned her focus to his hand. "Still angry?"

"Quite. We'll fight about it in the morning, I'm sure." He mulled something over in his mind before speaking. "Laura?"

"Hmmmm?"

"You don't think there's a chance Roselli was… involved… in what happened to Mildred, do you?" Her fingers paused in their motion. She tilted back her head and frowned thoughtfully at him.

"I hadn't really thought about it, honestly." She returned her focus to his hand, considering his question for a long minute. "I would be surprised. What would be the point? To get me alone? He could have done that several times in the last few days. As far as I know, he doesn't have an issue with her, just us."

"Mmmm," he hummed in acknowledgement of her last words. Pulling his hand away, he grasped hers and lifted it so that he could caress the discolored skin along her wrist.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "It's just a few bruises. Nothing either of us haven't had many times in the past," she reminded him.

"The man has a foot on you, Laura," he pointed out adamantly, voice hardening. "Not to mention you're barely eight stone soaking wet, whereas he's twice that. Have you any idea what he could have done if…"

"But he didn't," she interrupted calmly, trying to stop his mind from following the path it was taking.

"But he could have," he countered, undaunted by her interruption, " _That's the point_. I should have been there, damn it." Peeking at him from under her lashes, seeing the strain as his imagination raced forward into all the what if's, she sighed inwardly and pushed herself up from his lap. Folding her legs under her, she sat facing him.

"Remington, we had no way of knowing it was Roselli. No way of knowing he would show up there. Even if I had filled you in on the flowers, the photos, neither of us would have suspected him, of all people, of being behind it," she pointed out in her ever logical fashion.

"I would have made sure you weren't left alone, that I was by your side," he countered vehemently. She looked at him doubtfully.

"Would you have been? We were home. I had Monroe lure you out of the apartment in order to pack our luggage, drop it in the limo." She shook her head. "You would have done the same thing you did tonight after you knew about Roselli: Left, told me to lock the door behind you." He blew out a puff of air, swiping at his mouth then holding his hand over his mouth as he considered what she said. Finally, dropping his hand with another huff of frustration, he nodded. "Can we just forget about Roselli for tonight? We can argue about the rest tomorrow, as you said. It's been a long day, and I just want to lay here with my husband and get some sleep. Can we do that?" He blew out a short breath and nodded again.

"Hmmmm," he hummed his agreement, as he slid back down to his back on the bed and opened an arm to her. "Come here." Reaching over him to turn off the lamp, she stretched out, nuzzling her body into his. He lost himself in the feel of her small hand rhythmically stroking his side for a bit. "Now that it seems we'll be spending a long weekend here in LA instead of the South of France, any ideas on what we should do?" He felt her lips lift into a smile against his chest.

"Other than the obvious?" she asked with a bemused voice.

"Other than the obvious," he confirmed, chuckling.

"I was thinking it's the perfect time for you to fulfill your obligation from our little bet this afternoon…"

"Lauraaaa," he groaned, "Isn't the loss of the trip punishment enough without subjecting me to that ridiculous medium that you call entertainment?"

"Sorry, buster. Just remember, not a single negative word."

"Insightful criticism, then," he grinned, at his attempt to put a creative spin on it.

"Not a chance."

"I suppose I'll just have to find other ways to amuse myself, then," he said smugly as she yawned against him.

"Remington…" she warned.

"Hmmm? Our wager said nothing about the use of distraction, and I happen to be quite adept at it, if I do say so myself." Laughing quietly, she nodded her head.

"A master at it," she confirmed.

"I suddenly find myself looking forward to our little marathon," he told her, a touch of evil glee in his voice.

"I bet you are," she answered drolly. He bussed her on the top of her head, then drew his fingers through her hair soothingly until he heard the soft sigh indicating she'd fallen asleep. Still grinning to himself, as he considered the myriad of ways he could distract her and all their delightful consequences, he followed her into sleep.

* * *

Laura woke when Remington's body jerked under hers. Bleary eyed, she looked around the room to see if something was amiss, when it happened again. She shook her head, then mentally smacked herself in the forehead.

It had been long enough since he'd felt her at risk that she'd forgotten his fear would chase him into his sleep. Pushing herself up on an elbow, she watched as his lips moved even as his brow furrowed. His hand twitched against her waist where he still held her, his arm then tightening around her, trying to draw her closer.

Drawing her fingers through his hair, she called to him, trying to rouse him from the nightmare he'd lost himself in.

"Rem…" she called quietly, yet he continued to dream on. Smoothing her hand across his shoulder then along his chest, she gave it a little nudge, calling to him again, a little louder this time. "Rem…" He started awake, her name on his lips, his eyes darting around the room before settling on her. She felt his body shudder against hers. "I'm alright, Rem. We're alright," she assured him quietly.

Remington stared at her, knowing only one thing at the moment: Burning need. Need to touch every inch of her lovely skin. To taste every dapple of color smattered across it. To lose himself in her. He flipped her to her back, even as his mouth claimed hers with a fierceness that stunned them both. Eager fingers skimmed away clothes, before he took her hard and fast to the edge, as his mouth suckled the skin of her neck and shoulders. When she climaxed, her clenching muscles and quaking body overpowered his senses, and his mouth pulled hard against tender skin, as his own orgasm ripped through him. She cried out at both the sensation of his body within her and the mouth that still clung to taste.

He was still quivering when he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them to their sides facing one another. For long minutes, his lips and hands continued to wander, to caress, her own hands and lips exchanging each gentle touch. As his breathing eased he took her head in his hands and waited until love saturated brown eyes met blue eyes turned sapphire from urgency to make her understand.

"I'd give my life to keep you safe," he vowed.

Touching her fingertips to both his cheeks, she promised, "I'm okay, Rem." Keeping her eyes joined with his, her fingers ran traced through his hair as she touched her lips to his. "I'm here. Safe with you."

Tucking her against him, his fingers stroked her hair as she nuzzled her cheek against his chest. With a gentle nudge to part his legs, she slid her leg between them and wriggled even closer, until her skin was pressed against his from shoulder to hip. Her hands feathered across the bare skin of his back, through his hair, until he was lulled off to sleep in the harbor of her embrace.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Yes, yes, yes, our least favorite Italian has returned. However, there are some bread crumbs in Canon that suggest a story that was meant to be told involving the one we wish we had never heard of. Enjoy the ride, as the truth of Antony Roselli will come out over this series and ones to come.**_


	18. Chapter 16: Accord

Chapter 16: Accord

 _Thursday, October 2, 1986_

Remington's eyes eased open as the rising sun chased away the inky night outside. He listened carefully to the silent room trying to figure out what had awakened him. Tipping his head down to look at Laura, his lips quirked upwards in a quiet smile. They'd barely moved at all since falling asleep. She nuzzled herself against him a little tighter in response to the slight shift of his body and after bussing her against the top of her head, bowed his own so that he could breathe in the clean scent of her hair, the flavors of honeysuckle, grass and sunshine always lightening the weight of whatever ailed him. Eyes that were easing closed jolted wide open as he heard the sound again. Once more he tipped back his head to look at his wife, who was humming softly in his arms.

He closed his eyes not to sleep but to listen. His lips lifted in a contented smile as he identified the song she was humming in her sleep as Tony Bennett's _For Once In My Life_ , the song they'd danced to on the terrace overlooking New York City. Burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply, the thought that she was reliving that evening in her dreams had emotion swamping him. Those few stolen moments together were amongst his fondest of memories. He could still see the dress she wore, the way her eyes sparkled in the light, feel the touch of her fingers at the nape of his neck, feel the tender touch of her lips against his.

Snuggling down into her, he let her humming follow him into his sleep so he could join her in her dreams.

* * *

"Damn it, Laura," he roared, slapping both palms against the kitchen counter, as he leaned across the island towards her. "Tell me just this: Why is it when I do something foolish, when I fail to tell you about something that may affect both of us, it's a matter of trust, a betrayal, cause for you to punish me endlessly. But when you…" he leaned even further towards her "… when you do the same bloody thing – No, worse! as it inevitably places your well-being at risk… you're, you're, you're…" he stumbled over the words, before shouting them "… _you're_ ' _simply being_ _cautious'_ not to alarm me before necessary!"

As predicted the evening before, the inevitable argument exploded as Remington prepared breakfast for the two of them. Leaning back on the heels of her feet, Laura tipped back her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. _So much for apologizing before the argument,_ she thought morosely to herself. Hoping to head off the argument before it could start, when she'd joined him in the kitchen, she'd slid up onto the counter, then told his back:

"I'm sorry. Maybe I should have told you about the flowers, the pictures, but I didn't want to worry you if there was nothing to be concerned about." She'd scrunched up her face when she'd watched as his shoulders stiffened, and he removed the omelet pan he'd been warming off of the flames before cutting off the burner and turning around slowly. As expected, his temper erupted. They'd been going at it for several minutes now – she pacing, he leaning against the counter as his temper continued to soar.

His sarcasm gave her own temper life. "Other than telling you, what would you have done differently, Remington? Mildred and I checked the usual suspects, cleared all of them. There were no more leads. The flowers, the pictures, had stopped on Monday. What would you have done that I hadn't?"

"That's not the point, Laura! You bloody well knew there was something to be concerned about, otherwise why investigate in the first place? You knew and kept it from me! Why?" he demanded to know.

"You were already distracted by the Covington case, I didn't want to add to that," she retorted. His jaw clenched as blue eyes pierced hers.

"Try again," he said in a voice of steel, having seen her eyes flicker away from his only to return – an absolute sign of her attempting to avoid the real issue. Planting her fists on her hips, she glared at him.

"Because I knew what would happen if I told you! If I didn't have answers beforehand…" she shot back at him. His countenance became even more forbidding at her words, if that was possible.

"And what, precisely, did you know would happen?" His jaw twitched as he awaited her reply.

"This!" She threw up her hands. "You. The anxiety. The nightmares. This… this… primeval need to protect me! I don't need this. I don't _want_ this!" He stepped away from the counter, his shoulders rising and mouth dropping open, clearly offended. Shoving a hand in his pocket, his other hand rubbed the back of his neck as he fought for control.

"Are we partners, Laura?" he inquired, in an eerily calm voice.

"Yes, but what does that have…"

"Are we husband and wife?"

"That depends on how much longer this keeps up…" she muttered under her breath, chin tipping up, arms crossing over her chest as she realized where he was heading with this.

"How many times have you pounded it into my head that it is our job, as partners, to have one another's backs?" She tightened her lips mutinously. Nodding, he continued. "As your husband, am I not also your partner?" Now he crossed his arms as well, engaging in a staring war with her. "Laura…" He drew her name out, demanding an answer.

"Yes," she ground out. "But it's not the same thing!" she continued, voice rising anxiously. "Damn it, Remington, you were already protective before we got married. It's your nature, I understand that! But now? I know you. Your first instinct is going to be to hover, to… to… to… lock me away…"

"Lock you away?" he laughed, unable to help himself. Pacing now himself, he swiped at his mouth, laughing again before speaking. "Lock _you_ away? Want to? Yes. Would I? Give me at least some bloody credit for knowing you, Laura! You'd simply climb out the window and go it on your own. At least when I'm by your side fighting the same battle, I have half a chance of making sure you come home! The only thing… _the only thing_ … I've ever asked your word on, is that you not enter the battle grounds by yourself, not to sit out the fight altogether!"

Anger deflating, she hoisted herself up on the counter of the island. Lifting her hands up, she dropped them again, then quirked a tentative smile at him. "Are you saying, Mr. Steele, that I have underestimated you again?" Her perennial, upbeat husband didn't bend. Leaning back against the counter next to the stove, he crossed his arms.

"I want your word, Mrs. Steele."

"Rem…" she hedged.

"Your word, Laura," he repeated, refusing to budge an inch. A crinkle appeared between her brows as she studied him. With a small huff, her chin lifted.

"Only if you give me yours as well," she insisted.

"Fair enough," he agreed with a nod of his head.

"Fine," she said, clearly aggravated. "You have my word that I'll fill you in from the start from now on."

"You've my word as well," he answered, then smiled wide, flashing his pearly whites. "There, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked, turning the burner back on and setting the omelet pan on top of it to warm.

"Maybe for you," she mumbled under her breath. Remington turned his head to look at her.

"What was that?" he needled her, having heard her clearly. She scrunched her face, knowing he had.

"I want you," she prevaricated, flashing him a smug little smile. He chuckled, while flicking the gas off on the burner again. Turning around, he took a step towards her, then grasped her hips and pulled her forward.

"That's not quite what I heard, Mrs. Steele," he grinned, lifting her hair over her shoulder, so his lips could find her neck. "However, good show on the attempted recovery," he teased.

"It was, wasn't it?" she asked, looping her arms around his neck, and wrapping her legs around his waist. "Now, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Steele?"

"Guess I'll just have to show you, eh?" he asked, carrying her through the dining room and into the living room, dropping with her onto the couch.

"I guess so," she agreed, then threaded her fingers through his hair as their lips met.

Breakfast would have to wait.


	19. Chapter 17: Under Fire

Chapter 17: Under Fire

After stopping by Mildred's to visit with her, Remington and Laura found themselves, for the second time in a week, in Meyerson's office. Laura had called hoping to get an appointment somewhere over the next few days, and was surprised that the name Remington Steele seemed to still hold sway, despite the fact they were already paying clients. This time it was she, however, that was the bundle of nerves, seeking out his hand to caress his wedding ring. Turning his hand over, he tangled her fingers with hers.

"Everything will be alright, Laura," he assured her in an undertone.

She wasn't so sure. When she'd threatened Roselli, forewarned him they would go to his superiors, it had seemed a valid idea. Now, however, she was second guessing that course of action. The man clearly had a slim, if even that, grasp on reality. And if they threatened his job, his livelihood? Would he finally go away or exact a form of revenge they were unprepared for? Her foot began tapping the floor with vigor as she glanced at Remington then away.

Roselli's words from the night before reverberated through her mind.

" _ **Figure out how to get rid of him, Laura, or I will."**_

She closed her eyes as her foot impossibly picked up tempo and she clutched his hand tighter.

Her thoughts returned to Roselli's confession in Cannes – that he'd set Remington up, hadn't meant for him to leave Paddington Station alive. A shiver of fear ran down her spine, and she glanced again at her husband.

Remington felt the slight tremor in her hand, and peered even closer at Laura. While across the years, she often utilized the term 'icy calm' to remind him to maintain his cool, it was actually a term he had coined for her and her ability to maintain an implacable demeanor no matter the circumstances. Certainly a term that did not apply to her at the moment, as he took in her rapidly tapping foot, and the knuckles of her hand that had turned white from clutching his hand so hard. While her face remained a mask of cool calm, the rest of her body belied the truth: she was on edge and barely holding it together. Turning his head towards the receptionist, he waited until he caught her eye and with a minute flick of his head, indicated he and Laura would be stepping out into the hall for a moment. When the receptionist nodded her acknowledgment, he stood and gave Laura's hand a small tug. She looked up at him, surprised. He leaned down and lay his lips next to her ear.

"Just a moment," he whispered. With a crinkle between her brows, she stood, and allowed him to lead her out of the office. Tucking themselves into a corner of the hall, mere steps from the office door, he turned to her. "What is it, love?" he asked her quietly. Her eyes met his, then wandered away, as she turned to lean her back against the wall.

"Maybe this is a mistake," she told him quietly. Leaning his weight on an arm against the wall, he tipped his head down to look at her. _Laura, second guessing herself?_ The idea set him a bit off balance. This was, after all, a woman who normally pursued her plans with the ferocity of a rabid dog, even when circumstances might suggest the plan unwise. Her, waffling? He couldn't bend his mind around it.

"Why is that?" he asked mildly. She glanced at him, then away again. Pushing herself off of the wall, she began to pace in the small confines while tapping steepled fingers together.

"What if this pushes him over the edge? He's already a loose canon, unpredictable. We have no idea where he's holding up at. We have no idea when he's watching us, how he's avoiding our notice. What if this is the final straw?" His eyes watched as her fingers tapped with more zest against each other.

"Our choices are what, here, Laura? Seems to me that they are rather limited. Either we go after him through whatever avenues we can, or he continues to run amok, free to do _what_ he wishes, _whenever_ he wishes." She plopped her back against a wall again, heaving a great sigh while closing her eyes and tipping her head up at the ceiling.

"I know," she answered, elongating the words in her frustration. "Damn it, Remington," she grated out, reaching for her brow, as she dropped her head to look at him. "What if he comes after you? We have no idea where he is, what he's up to, what his next step is. Hell, we don't even know when he's watching us! We're open targets right now, and he's made it clear: he wants _you_ out of the way." Her voice cracked on the last words. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and averted his face. He watched her carefully before speaking.

"This is not the first time we've faced a lunatic bound and determined to injure one or both of us, Laura," he reminded her quietly. "We do what we've done before, successfully, I might add: We stay alert, prepared to go on the defensive as necessary, and in the meantime we work towards eliminating the threat. Isn't that what we're doing here?" He moved ever closer to her as he spoke, until he stood right in front of her. With a single finger he tipped up her chin so she was looking at her. "Isn't it?"

"Yes, but…" she shook her head, turning away from him again. He nudged her chin until she looked at him again.

"But what, Laura?" She searched his face for long seconds and the indecision and fear he saw in her eyes, shook him. "Laura?"

"It's different…" she faltered, grasping for the words. "It feels…different… this time. With DesCoines, Keyes, even Veckmer, I felt we were in… I don't know… control. We were a step ahead of the game or at least keeping pace, no matter what happened. I feel… I feel…" she let her words taper off with a small growl of frustration.

"Go on," he encouraged. "You feel what?" She crossed her arms across her body, rubbing her arms, as another shiver of fear ran up her spine.

"It's… different this time," she repeated. "This is not like Descoines and the rest. It's not… revenge, paybacks. It's… it's… I don't know," her voice pitched upwards as she drew out the words. Her fingertips touched the sides of his face, before her hands touched his chest then clutched his upper arms. "He wants me… he wants _you_ out of the way. All my instincts are telling me he's not going to stop, not until that happens, no matter what we do. But this…" she waved a hand at the law office doors before returning it to his arm "…this he'll see as a declaration of war."

"It seems to me war was declared when Roselli and Keyes conspired to separate us in Mexico and ever since we've been in retreat," he pointed out. "It's time to fight back, Laura, otherwise we'll spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, wondering when the next attack will come." Tipping her head forward, she leaned her forehead against his chest. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, before looking up at him.

"You're right," she nodded, while consciously pulling herself together and putting on her game face. "Let's go talk to Meyerson." Remington bussed her on the forehead quickly, then lay his hand on the small of her back as they returned to the law offices.

The receptionist directed them to Meyerson's office as soon as they walked back into the lobby. Meyerson stood and greeted them both as they entered, before sitting back down behind his desk and leaning back in his chair.

"I'll admit, I was caught off guard when Ms. Wamai told me you were wanting to confer again so soon and it was somewhat of an emergency. Has a representative for the INS made another visit already?" Laura and Remington glanced at each other. With a brief nod to him, she indicated he should take the lead for now.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, although not in the way you mean. You recall that we told you while we were in Mexico, we were recruited by an INS with ties to MI5 to help him with a…" he cleared his throat before continuing on, "… a little matter?"

"Of course," Meyerson acknowledged. "It will only add support to your petition when the time comes – to have assisted an agent for the INS." The couple exchanged looks again.

"I'm afraid that won't be the case," Remington answered, dispelling that assumption. "While we were honest about all else that we shared with you, I'm afraid in this regard we were less than forthright. For good cause, I can assure you, but we think it's time to come clean and see if you can… assist us… with a problem that has arisen."

Meyerson leaned forward in his chair, a frown drawing his brows together. "I shouldn't have to tell you, Mr. Steele, that it's difficult to offer you the best possible representation when my own clients are being duplicitous in their dealings with me."

"You're right," Laura agreed, interceding. "As my husband explained, we had our reasons for not fully expounding on our… experiences… with the agent in question. If you'll just hear us out, I'm sure you'll understand why."

Meyerson leaned back in his chair again, casting them a doubtful look. Picking up a pen, he twiddled with it for a moment before speaking. "Alright, I'm game, let's hear it." Laura lay her hand on Remington's arm, as he began to speak.

"To fully understand, we'll need to give you a little background," he began. "Two years ago, we crossed paths with an investigator for Vigilance Insurance. During our three… interactions… with the man, Norman Keyes, we solved the cases he'd been contracted to investigate. This didn't set well with the man, and we quickly found ourselves an adversary in him. It is Keyes that turned me in to the INS as being an illegal alien." He paused, desperately wanting to avoid any mention of his attempted marriage to Clarissa for fear of resurrecting the tensions that inevitably accompanied the topic. Glancing at him, Laura read his hesitation in a split second and took over.

"That was, of course, the reason for our first, hasty wedding. The INS agent assigned to us at the time, Estelle Becker, recommended that we leave on our honeymoon as quickly as possible. As you're already aware, that took place in Mexico where we first met up with the agent that… 'recruited'… us. Anthony Roselli." Now it was her turn to hesitate as she felt Remington's arm stiffen under her hand. Unconsciously, her hand flinched at her husband's reaction. Looking at her, he saw the surge of guilt in her brown eyes that always seemed to accompany mention of the man anymore. Removing his arm from under her hand, he took her hand in his and laced their fingers together, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"We didn't find out until we'd returned home from our European honeymoon, that Roselli and Keyes had conspired to separate Laura and I at the rather… seedy… hotel at which we had landed, after Keyes had changed all our travel arrangements to make it possible. When we attempted to vacate the hotel, the manager would not permit us to use our credit cards, but leant me the hotel jeep in order to travel to a nearby town to retrieve cash so that we could settle our bill and leave. While I was otherwise engaged, a gang by the name of the Malvado's cornered Laura, chasing her into the woods, where Roselli conveniently… 'rescued' her." When his fingers tightened around hers, she picked up where he left off.

"Again, we only learned after we returned home, that Keyes and Roselli had arranged all of this from the start: The accommodations, the manager paid off to force Remington and I apart, the Malvados paid to chase me into the woods where Roselli could play the hero. When we finally reunited at the hotel in Las Haddas, Roselli had wormed his way firmly into our lives, as a part of the plan he and Keyes had devised." She paused and let out a small puff of air, while looking at Remington with strained eyes.

Meyerson had been watching the interplay between the couple while avidly listening to the start of their tale. Sensing they needed a prompt to continue on, he queried, "What was in it for Keyes and Roselli to concoct this elaborate plot?"

"Shortly before Keyes turned me in to the INS," Remington explained, "his employer, Vigilance, had hired our Agency to oversee all investigations. As such, Keyes would report to Laura and I. He… took exception… to that. By having me deported, the Agency's reputation would be damaged as well and Vigilance would pull the plug, so to speak, on our contract with them."

"And Roselli?" He took interest in the strained glances shared by the couple and how Remington began brushing his thumb across his wife's wedding ring. Laura shook her head before answering.

"Roselli had been banished to a South American office by the INS after a violent altercation at another location. He assaulted his superior, injuring him seriously, when he called Roselli on the carpet for stalking his wife," Laura provided. "He hoped that by proving our marriage a fraud, it would put him back in good light with the INS and he'd be transferred back to a major hub."

"Clearly he was unable to accomplish his goal, otherwise Mr. Steele would not currently be here," Meyerson observed.

"I love my husband, Mr. Meyerson," Laura told him adamantly, her eyes narrowing on him. "We had, as Remington likes to say, 'lived in one another's pockets' for four years. We were going through a difficult time when Roselli appeared in our lives, and he did his best to try to wrench us apart. But here we are, stronger than ever." For the first time since the couple had entered his office, he watched their tension ease. Remington lifted Laura's hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. She gave him a quiet smile in answer.

"Do you have any proof to support what you've told me here?" he inquired. Nodding, Laura opened up her briefcase and handed him several sheets of paper.

"A notarized statement from his girlfriend at the time, attesting to everything we've said here," she provided. Meyerson skimmed through the statement then returned his attention to them.

"So, it seems we can't count on Roselli as being willing to assist you with your problems with the INS then," Meyerson summarized, believing the couple was done relating their story. "I wouldn't be concerned. We'll be petitioning for citizenship based on Mr. Steele's long standing residency, legal or not, as well as the contri-" He paused as Laura shook her head adamantly at him.

"That's not all," she interrupted. Meyerson, surprised, leaned back in his seat again and looked at her.

"What else?" he inquired. Laura and Remington exchanged another look as the tension returned to their faces. With a slight nod, Remington began to fill Meyerson in.

"Roselli followed us home to Los Angeles and concocted a fake case that would take us overseas to London. While we were there, he blackmailed me into assisting him on uncovering an alleged mole within MI5—"

"What do you mean blackmailed?" Meyerson interrupted. Remington gave a huff of irritation, but answered nonetheless.

"Roselli conspired to obtain a statement from Shannon Wayne…" he glanced at Laura, and squeezed her hand in silent apology, "… a former…" he swiped a hand across his face while glancing at her again "… a former paramour from years past… claiming that I had 'confessed' to her that my marriage was nothing more than a ploy and that she and I, in fact, shared two children."

"What was in it for Ms. Wayne to collude with Roselli?" Laura fielded the question, while brushing her thumb across Remington's palm in an attempt to relax him.

"Ms. Wayne had found out that Remington had recently been bestowed a significant inheritance and hoped by separating he and I, she could benefit from his endowment." Meyerson nodded, then turned to Remington.

"Do you, in fact, have two children with Ms. Wayne?" Remington looked at the man, clearly insulted while his wife uncharacteristically, at least in mixed company, snorted softly next to him.

"Good Lord, no. The woman and I had an assignation that lasted merely a couple of days more than six years ago now. I've neither seen nor spoken to her since, and I quite assure you there were no resultant children. I've always been quite… fastidious… in that regard."

"My apologies," Meyerson offered. "I assure you, I meant no offense. Roselli blackmailed you, to what end?" he prompted. Remington glanced at Laura, watching as she averted her eyes from him.

"Roselli had developed a bit of an… obsession… with Laura. If I agreed to act as an emissary on his behalf, passing on documents to the alleged mole within the MI5, then he would turn over Shannon's statement to me, and leave my wife alone. If I chose not to, I would be deported, leaving his way clear to pursue her, or so he believed."

"I assume you agreed, then?" Meyerson pondered, leaning back in his seat again, watching Laura carefully as she lifted a hand to rub her brow.

"I did," Remington confirmed.

"And?" Meyerson prompted again.

"And he set my husband up," Laura burst in angrily. "He sent Remington to Paddington Station with every intention of the mole eliminating him." Meyerson visibly started at her words, looking from one to the other, seeing by their body language alone that her claims were factual.

"Laura…" Remington said quietly, as shocked by her outburst as Meyerson. Pulling her hand away from his, she held it up, silently asking that he give her a minute. Sighing, he returned his attention to the attorney.

"How would having you murdered solve his issue with the mole?" Meyerson asked. Remington threaded his fingers through his hair, his tension mounting as he saw the toll the conversation was taking on Laura.

"It wouldn't have," he admitted, reluctantly. "More than likely he was playing the odds that I'd have passed on the information before the deed was done."

Assessing the couple again, Meyerson decided to leave that topic alone, at least for now. "Is that where your contact with Roselli ended?" Shaking his head, Remington let out a short, weary laugh.

"Not at all. Accused of espionage himself, he followed us to Ireland and solicited our assistance again. We helped clear his name, hoping to be rid of him once and for all."

"And were you? Rid of him?" Remington's fingers brushed through his hair again. Glancing at Laura, he saw she was still not in a place to participate yet, so answered the query himself.

"We thought so. We parted company in Ireland. Several days later, we were at a casino in Cannes when he appeared again."

"What was he doing there?"

"Coincidence, he claimed at first. Truth of the matter, he was there for Laura. He didn't take kindly to her telling him to get lost," he glanced at Laura again, then rubbed his mouth, finally concluding with, "He assaulted her." Meyerson straightened in his chair again, looking from the small woman in front of him to her husband.

"He assaulted her? Physically assaulted her?" Remington closed his eyes and shook his head. Opening his eyes, he rubbed at his mouth again while looking away, unable to answer.

"He grabbed me, shook me," Laura finally chimed in, while reaching for Remington's hand again. "That's when he told me what he'd planned at Paddington Station." Reaching into her briefcase again, she pulled out the videotape. "The casino provided us security camera footage of his battery of me," she provided while handing the tape over to Meyerson. "It's all right there. If you'd have a copy made and return it to us, we'd appreciate it."

Meyerson nodded his acknowledgment. "And since Cannes? Has he been in contact again?" Laura nodded.

"On Saturday, I started receiving flowers – dahlia's. By Sunday they were accompanied by pictures of Remington as he worked on a case. I didn't find out until last night who they were coming from." She flicked her eyes towards Remington, then looked back at Meyerson. "Roselli cornered me in the garage at Cedars-Sinai. Battered me again, threatened to get rid of Remington if I didn't do it myself."

Meyerson shook his own head this time. If not for the evidence they were handing him, along with the clear toll it was taking upon the couple to relate their interactions with Roselli, he wouldn't have believed a word of it. The story was that farfetched, and because it was, even more than a little alarming.

"Battered you where?" he asked quietly. Laura squared her shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

"He grabbed me by the arms the first time, slapped me, slammed me into the car, then eventually pinned me to the car, holding my wrists to the roof to keep me from fighting back," she told him clearly and succinctly. Meyerson's eyes drifted down to her wrists and for the first time took note of the bruising on them.

"We'll need pictures of your injuries," he informed her. Remington's head snapped around at those words, eyes blazing with anger.

"You won't-" he began.

"Remington," Laura interrupted quietly. "It's fine. If that's what it takes to get Roselli out of our lives, they can take all the pictures they need."

"Laura," he beseeched her quietly, "You don't have to do this."

"It's fine," she assured him again, squeezing his hand. "Here?" she inquired of Meyerson.

"If it's okay with you," he confirmed. She gave him a short nod. Punching the button on his intercom, he asked Ms. Wamai to come into his office and bring their Polaroid camera with her. In short order, his office door opened, and his paralegal entered.

Laura stood and shed her suit jacket, avoiding her husband's anguished eyes. Taking off her watch, she held out her wrists, turning them over for a second set of shots. After pictures of her arms, fingerprint sized bruises now verging on black, she turned and lifted the back of her shirt so Ms. Wamai could take a picture of the bruise on her back. In short order, she retucked her shirt and put back on watch and jacket. Sitting back down, she reclaimed Remington's hand in hers, tangling their fingers together and giving it a firm squeeze.

"It's alright," she assured him again. He swiped a hand through his hair, and shook his head in the negative.

"No, it's not," he dissented, his voice angry, clipped. He turned to Meyerson. "You've your pictures. Can you help rid our lives of Roselli, once and for all?"

Meyerson turned and considered Remington, empathizing with him. He could only imagine if this were happening to he and his wife, how he would feel, his own rage that his wife had been twice mishandled while he'd been unable to do a thing about it. The stress when Immigration entered someone's life, threatened their security with deportation, was significant. But a rogue agent? Blackmail? Stalking? Attempted murder? Battery? The very idea left more than a bad taste in his mouth. It infuriated him. He belied none of that when he addressed Remington.

"Ideally, what would you like to see happen?" he queried.

"A transfer, far away from us. No further involvement in my case. It made clear that he is to contact neither of us, come near neither of us. No flowers. No photos. No phone calls. No accidental meetings. No contact whatsoever, unless he wishes to lose his job and have criminal charges levied." Remington ticked each point off, while Laura nodded next to him. Meyerson nodded sharply himself at the end of his recitation.

"Then let's make that happen. I think you've provided enough documentation, more than enough facts, for the INS to realize the position Roselli has put them in. The last thing any governmental agency wants is for it to become public that their organization is represented by someone as off-balance as Roselli appears to be. And for that representative to have a documented history already of the very things he's doing to the two of you?" He leaned back in his chair again. "I'll start the ball rolling, immediately. In the meantime, continue to document. When, where, the type of contact that is made. Keep anything else he sends you, we may need them."

"How long?" Remington demanded to know. Meyerson lifted his shoulders, allowed them to fall.

"A few days, a week at the outside, would be my guess. Once we get the information into the right person's hands, I don't see them sitting on it. The last thing the INS would want is a repeat of the incident that the INS banished him for in the first place."

Laura gave his hand a firm squeeze before she stood.

"Do it then. Call us with anything else you might need. We'll make ourselves available for any questions the INS might have." Remington stood next to her, and reached a hand out to Meyerson.

"A week," he told the attorney firmly, icy blue eyes pinned on the man. "After that, we take matters into our own hands. I'll not have him laying another finger on her."

"Understood." Meyerson agreed. "I'll be in touch." He nodded his head towards Laura.

The couple strode swiftly from Meyerson's office, only slowing when they stepped onto the elevator. As the doors slid closed, Laura turned into Remington, lacing her fingers through his hair on both sides of his head, before sliding her hands down over his shoulders before wrapping her arms around his back. Pressing a hand to the back of her head, while surrounding her slender waist with an arm, he rested his chin on top of her head.

"We seem to have exchanged places," she commented. "Me, a wreck before we met with Meyerson, you after." He stepped away from her at her words.

"Not a wreck, Laura," his dissented vehemently. "I'm bloody well furious, _that's_ what I am." He pulled a hand through his hair almost violently, as he paced the narrow confines of the elevator. "There was a time in my life when me and a couple lads would have had a little chat with the likes of Roselli. Nothing too serious, mind you, but leaving enough of a sting to make them think twice about messing with one of our own again. Now? There I sit in an attorney's office watching as pictures are taken of my wife's assortment of bruises." He gave his head a quick shake before shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against a wall, looking up at the service panel. "I feel so damned helpless, and don't much care for the feeling at all." Holding a hand over his lower face, he shook his head again and stilled.

Laura leaned back against the wall opposite him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I understand the feeling…" she told him quietly. "I wish we could end this on our own, but how?" she asked, voice rising in frustration. "We have no idea where he is, neither of us have had a single clue that he's been close enough to leave the flowers, take those pictures. He has connections that allow him to track our every movement, even where we were on different legs of our honeymoon." She blew out a puff of air in frustration. "But if it takes us sitting down with an attorney and having pictures taken of me to end this, to keep you safe, that's all that matters, isn't it?"

"It's not myself I'm worried about, Laura…"

"Well, you should be," she snapped. "He already hoped to get rid of you in London and now he's threatening to try again. Stop worrying so much about protecting me, and start worrying about yourself, damn it!" She stopped abruptly and squeezed her eyes together briefly. She looked at him, her face full of remorse. "I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice softening. "I didn't mean it to come out like that. I… you... It's just…" She shook her head in aggravation. "You're not the only one who needs someone to come home."

In two smooth strides, he crossed the elevator to her, bussing her on the forehead and giving her a brief hug as the elevator dinged and the doors began sliding open.

"Perhaps it's time that we come up with a game plan of our own," he suggested as he handed her out of the elevator, "and find a way to turn the tables on our Mr. Roselli ourselves then, eh?"

"I can't say I disagree with your line of thinking, Mr. Steele," she answered as they briskly crossed the lobby, "I can't help thinking that there is more to this than it appears."

"How so?" he asked, holding the door open for her to pass through.

"The incident with his former boss in Mexico, to start with," she began as they strode down the step outside of the building. "He was supposedly obsessed with the wife, why go after the hus-"

Her words were cut off by the retort of gun fire.

"Get down," he shouted at her, giving her shove towards a large, cement planter while he dove behind a similar planter nearby, then skittered backwards to lean his back against it while staying low as bullets pinged off the cement. "Laura, okay?" he called out to her, frantically trying to get a look at her.

"Okay," she called in return. In a lull of gunfire, she peeked her head up to look over at him. "Is this for us, or does someone else seem to be the target?" The sound of gunfire preceded another bullet pinging off the planter. "Never mind. Can you see anything?"

Turning around on all fours, he peeked his head up to try to surveil the area and was sent quickly ducking again as several bullets careened off the cement structure. "Only bits of concrete as they fly past my head," he answered.

"Roselli?" she queried, as she crawled around towards the other side of the planter trying to get a better look.

"I'd be surprised. This would seem to be a bit too obvious for his taste and…" he hit the ground as a bullet pinged off the corner of the planter, a little too close for comfort.

"And what?" she shouted back. "Don't leave me hanging, Mr. Steele. And what?"

"Sorry, a bit distracted trying to keep my ear attached to my head, Laura," he called back with a touch of sarcasm, before answering her question. "And it would hardly be logical for him to be attempting to kill you, since it's you he wants. Myself? Makes perfect sense but it seems you're receiving your fair share of someone's attention at the moment, as well."

"I see your point," she answered, as she skittered backwards when the shooter caught her movement around the planter. "So you're saying we have _two_ people after us now?"

"At least, so it would seem." He peeked his head up over the planter again after a prolonged lull in gunfire, then quickly ducked back down as another piece of cement went flying. He said a small prayer of thanksgiving when he heard sirens nearing. "Perhaps company will scare them off?' he called to her.

"One could hope," she agreed.

By silent agreement, they remained behind the planters even as the hail of bullets stopped until four squad cards from the LAPD careened to a stop at the curb. Even then, they waited until the officers alighted from their vehicles and after a scan of the area called an all clear. Standing and dusting themselves off, by force of habit they did not embrace in relief at the near miss, but instead assumed the roles of the consummate professionals they otherwise were.

"Steele and Holt," one of the officers acknowledged them with a shake of his head and roll of his eyes. "Who have you gone and pissed off now?"

They looked at each other, then jointly shrugged. "We have no idea, honestly," Laura answered for them. "We don't have any current active cases that would warrant such… interest."

"Well, someone's got a hard on for the two of you, so you might want to start thinking about who that is. I'm guessing you didn't see nothing?"

"We saw plenty," Remington commented drily. "Cement flying, bullet holes forming in the building… But a person? We were rather preoccupied with keeping our hides out of their crosshairs."

"No need to get snarky, Steele," the officer criticized. "There's no reason for the two of you to stick around. If anyone's seen something we'll let you know."

"Thank you, officer," Laura told him graciously, then gave Remington's arm a nudge.

Walking down the sidewalk to where Fred was waiting with the limo on the opposite side of the barricade the police had set up, the couple greeted their bemused driver.

"Mr. Steele, Mrs. Steele," he nodded his head at them. "I was wondering if the two of you were the center of attention."

"Seems we were, Fred," Remington acknowledged, opening the door for Laura and handing her in. "I think we're both ready to return home and fade into glorious mole-like anonymity," he joked as he slid in next to her while Fred climbed into the driver's seat.

"I imagine so, sir," he agreed, starting the limo and pointing it towards the Rossmore.

In the backseat, Remington opened up and arm to Laura. Sliding across the seat, she relaxed into his embrace.

"Well, Mr. Steele, so much for your theory," she commented drolly, even as her lips twitched with amusement.

"Which theory might that be, Miss Holt?" he queried with an equally amused voice.

"That someone always shoots at us when we're kissing. We weren't kissing and there was a cornucopia of shooting going on." Throwing back his head, he laughed at her then bussed her on the cheek.

"Well, even I can't be expected to have every theory bear out at all times," he pointed out.

"True," she acquiesced. She glanced up at him and gave him a quirky grin. "Funny how that almost seemed… normal." He chuckled lightly.

"It rather did, didn't it? I was beginning to think we'd lost our touch, given we haven't had such an encounter since… Mexico, wasn't it?"

"Only if you don't count Shannon's alleged doctor shooting at me," she reminded him.

"Oh, but we weren't together at the time, therefore it lacked the… intimacy… of the moment we've just shared," he jested. She grinned up at him, before growing more somber.

"On a more serious note… We should take a second look at those records I pulled the other night." She pursed her lips. "I hate to admit it, but I was… preoccupied… and might have missed something."

"To the office then?" Glancing at her watch, Laura nodded.

"Just long enough to grab the file off of my desk. We can go through it and see who, if anyone, I missed doing a check on. I'd really like to get home early enough to go on a run this afternoon." Remington shifted uncomfortably next to her at her last words

"Laura," he drawled out her name, "do you really think that wise given the events last evening?" Shooting her husband a look, she drew away from him.

"No locking me away, remember, Remington? This marathon is important to me, and I can't… no, _I won't_ stop my training because of Roselli. Am I making myself clear?"

"We also agreed that we'd have one of Monroe's men watching our backs, do you recall that?" he asked irritably. "I doubt that any of them has either been recently training for a marathon nor wishes to, at least not if they're sane."

"Well," she challenged while flicking his collar then dragging a single finger down his chest, "you could always dig out those running shoes I gave you a few months ago and watch my back for me if you're that concerned." His eyes narrowed, identifying her game, knowing that she fully expected him to shirk away from the idea.

"Perhaps I will," he answered, almost petulantly. Her brows raised in surprise and she laughed lightly.

"Oh, this I have to see. You? Willing running for miles? Do you really think you can keep up?"

"It seems to me I keep up with you whenever we have to give chase to a suspect just fine," he pointed out.

"Yes, but we're not talking a few blocks here, but miles. It requires a certain amount of endurance, stamina even." She scooted over closer to him, to toy with the buttons of his shirt while looking up at him through her lashes. "And while your stamina in a certain area of our life is to be applauded, revered even…" her words earned a waggle of his brows from him "…running and… other activities… are extraordinarily different."

"I'm quite sure I could rise to the occasion if I wished," he told her self-assuredly. "I've just not had the right inspiration before."

"Oh, and you do now?"

"When your neck is on the line? I could write novels from the inspiration that lovely neck of yours, alone, gives me," he flirted, while skimming a finger down the column of her neck.

"Neck, aside, Mr. Steele, it occurs to me a little wager here could be very… enticing," she drawled, luring him in.

"Oh? And what terms did you have in mind, Mrs. Steele? I seem to recall that I already face long, tedious hours, of watching a certain… television…" he emphasized the word with no small modicum of disdain "… show …with you. If a similar wager by way of _Atomic Man_ is in the offing, I may feel the need to pass this time 'round ."

"Hmmmmmm," she mulled. She sat up slightly straighter as a thought occurred to her. The idea of her husband running with her held remarkable appeal. She'd been more than half serious when she'd presented him with the running shoes after the Grey case, and had, in fact, been more than a little disappointed when he'd immediately cast aside the very idea. If her offering held incentive for him while appearing to be about her… well, he wouldn't be able to resist. She grinned when the perfect idea came to mind. "If I win, you finally give me that Tibetan massage that Felicia told me about." The corner of her husband's lips lifted upward, before he quickly schooled his face in a neutral look.

"Really, Laura, that massage can take up to two hours. First, all the Agency paperwork for a week, then what could be considered a full two days of that hideous television show, and now hours spent tending to you? Soon my entire life will be devoted to endlessly paying off bets," he pretended to sulk.

"Already admitting defeat, Mr. Steele?" she smirked.

"Absolutely not, Mrs. Steele," he retorted. "I think we must qualify however, given your recent habit of assaulting my person in order to win such wagers, that no such antics shall be permitted this time around." She flicked her wrist at him, dismissively.

"Fine, fine, I agree. Now, do we have a wager?"

"I still haven't specified my terms yet," he reminded her. That his wife had offered up the massage because it would provide both exquisite pleasure and enjoyment he did not doubt. In that vein, he searched for a similar idea. Landing on it, his face lit up. "If I win, a weekend alone together, anywhere of my choosing, so long as it is in within, oh, and hour and a half of home should our presence be demanded."

She could have objected, could have pointed out they had just shelved going to the villa because of Mildred's accident, Roselli's appearance. But his careful qualification of keeping them close to home, combined with her considerable regret over the interruption of her planned getaway for them, made the idea more than palatable. On second thought, it held remarkable appeal. "Deal," she grinned, holding out her hand to him. Taking her hand in his, he lifted it to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles.

"Deal," he confirmed.

"We're here folks," Fred announced.

The couple looked up, surprised. They'd been so engrossed in their conversation they hadn't even noticed their arrival. Opening the car door, Remington gave Laura a hand out, then leaned in the window to speak with Fred.

"Couple turns around the block should do it, Fred. Mrs. Steele and I are only going to retrieve a file. We won't be long." Tapping the roof of the limo twice, he turned and placed his hand on the small of her back as they walked up and into the building. When they arrived at the offices of the Agency, Remington kneeled down to unlock the security latch, then swung the door open indicating she should proceed him. Squatting down, Laura picked up a plain white, business envelope, turning it over in her hands and looking at it. Watching her, he lifted a brow in curiosity.

"Mail?" She looked up at him and shook her head as she stood.

"The Agency's closed. The mailroom wouldn't deliver anything until we returned. Besides, there's not an address. Two guesses who it's from, and if you need both then you aren't quite the detective we think you are." Handing the envelope off to him, she strode into her office, him following closely in her wake.

"You're not going to open it?" She glanced up at him, from where she was digging through a stack of files.

"At home. Fred's waiting and whatever he has to say in there isn't going to change. It's not a picture or flower this time, that much we know." Pulling the file she needed from the stack she looked up at him. "Ready to go?" Brow slightly furrowed, he gave her a nod.

Locking back up the office, he waited until they were in the elevator, more than halfway down, before speaking.

"You seem to be taking this latest missive in stride," he noted, watching her closely for her reaction. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"I've had enough excitement for the day, I think. Between Meyerson then the shooting, I'm just ready to get home and run before we have to focus on who else out there is after us."

"Mmmmm," he hummed in agreement, even as he continued to watch her for the remainder of the elevator ride down. They crossed the lobby in silence, before leaving the building to stand outside and wait for Fred.

"Have anything in mind in the way of dinner this evening?" Her eyes listed upwards as she considered his question, before returning to look at him.

"Something simple? Chinese or Mexican, delivered maybe? A quiet night in with you…" she gave him a sly look, "… starting a certain marathon, sounds just like what the doc-." Her words broke off as she suddenly stiffened up, her eyes focused with stunned disbelief on something. Following her gaze, he settled on what had caught her attention just in time to watch Roselli give his wife a two-finger salute in greeting, a mocking little smile on his lips.

"Why that son of a b—" His final word was cut short when he took off at a full tilt run towards Roselli, where he was parked across the street from Century Towers and down a bit. He watched, only igniting his ire further, as Roselli laughed, before hopping in his car and taking off with a squeal of the tires. Remington continued to give chase anyway.

"Remington," Laura called, taking off in pursuit of him. "Mr. Steele!" she hollered, her voice sharp, when he ignored her the first time she called to him. Slowing to a halt, she watched as he turned to look over his shoulder at her. "There's no point!"

Watching Roselli's car as it sped away, he gradually slowed to a stop, emitting a string of creative cuss words under his breath, venting his frustration. After a moment, he began to walk back towards Laura, watching as Fred pulled back into the drive with the limo. They tumbled back into the car, he breathless, she erecting walls, putting a mask of calm firmly into place. She watched in silence as he simmered and stewed.

"Where in the bloody hell were Monroe's men?" he demanded to know when he finally spoke. She shook her head while lifting and dropping her shoulders.

"I have no idea." Picking up the receiver of the phone, he emphatically punched in a series of seven numbers.

"Well, he'd better find out!" Laura held herself silent, knowing there was little point in telling to calm down before calling his old friend and demanding answers. After cursory greetings were exchanged, Remington lit into the other man. "Would you mind telling me, Monroe, why it is with your men presumably watching our backs, that Roselli just made an appearance in broad daylight in order to taunt my wife and I? What kind of bloody fools did you entrust our hides to?"

"Perhaps my men believed he was not 'within reach' as you and I discussed, my friend. They've been given strict orders not to reveal themselves unless that is the case. Do you forget so soon our little agreement or did I misunderstand your intent?" Monroe questioned.

Remington sat back heavily against the seat of the limo, passing a hand across his mouth. "No, you didn't misunderstand," he acknowledged. "My apologies, mate."

"There's nothing to apologize for. It would seem, my friend, that Roselli no longer needs to keep himself concealed. The game, I believe, is about to escalate."

"I don't disagree. Laura and I are headed home. We should be there," he looked out the window to see where they were, "in about 5 minutes. Go ahead and page your boys. Let them know once we're home, they can make themselves scarce for the evening."

"I will. Mick? Watch your back," Monroe advised. Remington in turn glanced at Laura.

"It's not mine I'm concerned about. We'll talk soon." He found Laura watching him thoughtfully.

"Feel better?" she asked. He gave her a rueful smile.

"Not in the slightest." She gave him an 'I told you so' look though she'd never told him a thing.

"Somehow I didn't think you would," she pointed out anyway. He only grunted in answer. Sliding across the seat, she stroked his thigh several times before taking his hand in hers and wrapping their fingers together. "Let it go. He's just trying to intimidate us," she tilted her head at him, "You _know_ that." He looked at her askance.

"Are you seriously going to tell me that his little note or whatever it is, his appearance, doesn't bother you?"

" _Of course_ it bothers me," she bit out. "Why wouldn't it?" Focusing, she carefully set aside her emotions before speaking again. " _My point is_ , that it's over and done. Worrying ourselves over it, isn't going to change anything. Roselli thinks he has the edge over us. Does he though? Not if what we set into motion today works. I'd like to think that we'll be seeing the last of him, very soon."

"From your mouth…" He let the words linger, for her to complete the thought. He reached an arm around her shoulders to pull her near, relaxing as she leaned her head against his shoulder. "So tell me, Mrs. Steele, when's this bet of ours to commence." Leaning her head back she gave him a cocky little smile.

"Well," she drawled, "I am looking forward to that massage, Mr. Steele. The sooner the better, I'd say." He gazed at her with a heated look, trailing a finger down a cheek, across a jaw.

"And _I'm_ looking forward to having _you_ to myself for an entire weekend. No rogue government agents, no visits by the INS, no one shooting at us… no phones to disturb us." Eyes open, he touched his lips to hers as he watched the Rossmore come up alongside of them. "It seems to me, there's no time like the present, eh?"

"I have to say, I never thought I'd see the day when you would be looking forward to going for a run," she told him as he gave her a hand out of the limo.

"It's never carried such delightful…consequences before, either," he pointed out. Leaning down to look in the passenger window he instructed Fred, "Take the weekend off. Mrs. Steele and I will manage on our own." Fred nodded, and Remington stood, tapping the roof, before strolling towards the front doors of the Rossmore, with Laura at his side.


	20. Chapter 18: Tranquility

Chapter 18: Tranquility

When Remington peeked in on Laura as he saw the steam rising from the water and his wife buried amongst the mounds of bubbles, her head lying across the side of the tub barely visible above the white froth. Eyes closed, a slight smile on her lips, it was clear that she'd lost herself in the comfort of the heated, scented water. Quietly shedding his clothes he slipped into the water across from her, wincing slightly at the nearly scalding water that she preferred. Her teeth nipped at her lower lip as she felt the water shift, before long, slim legs stretched out along her body and a pair of hands lifted a foot from the water and talented fingers began to massage tender feet.

"You didn't win, you know," she told him smoothly, without opening her eyes.

"Although I graciously agreed to call it a draw, I believe we both know, Mrs. Steele, that in the end, I would have emerged the victor in this particular wager of ours," he volleyed with a grin. Opening an eye, she peeked at the smug smile on his face, and laughed softly while trying not to grind her teeth at the same time.

 _It's…It's…It's almost… insulting… that he so easily kept pace with me_ , she thought to herself. _Months on end of training, and while he didn't keep up with me effortlessly, he still did. If I hadn't twisted my ankle tripping over that rock on the path…_. She suppressed the small growl she longed to release and instead said, "If it hadn't been for that rock, I'm sure I would have emerged victorious, not you."

Remington smirked then chuckled softly, noting lightly,"On the other hand, one might be led to wonder if, in fact, you tripped at all or merely pretended to do so when you realized you wouldn't emerge triumphant this round." Laura sat up straighter, her eyes opening at his words as dimples flashed.

"Surely, you're not accusing _me_ of _thinking_ about _cheating_ ," she asked, feigning shock while trying not to laugh. _That's the problem with having a husband that is partner, best friend, lover and husband all wrapped up into one. He knows me too well. Truth is, I was considering just that when I twisted my ankle, but oh, ho, I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of admitting to it,_ she thought to herself with amusement.

"Me?" he asked with false innocence. "I would never _dream_ of accusing you of such treachery. I mean, to do so would require me reconsidering my wife's sudden need to… appreciate… my… assets… during a golfing wager and we couldn't have that, now could we?" She smirked at him.

"No, most definitely not," she agreed with a giggle.

"After all, to do so might damage my _fragile_ ego to realize it was not my body she was coveting but merely the win." That commentary earned a full out laugh of disbelief from her.

"Fragile ego? You? Pouring it on a bit thick now, aren't you?" she asked, bemused. With a swift tug of her good foot, she suddenly found herself under the water and sliding across the tub. Pushing herself up, sputtering and laughing at the same time, she swiped the water and bubbles from her face, even as a pair of hands grasped her waist and lifted her to straddle a certain man's legs. Still laughing she asked, "I take it my close presence is suddenly required for a particular reason, Mr. Steele?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Steele," he confirmed, while sweeping wet, curling ropes of hair over her shoulders. "I find myself in sudden need of reassurance that my wife appreciates me as much off the green as she does on." Looping her arms around his neck and settling in, she fingered the tips of his hair at his neck.

"Is that so? I'm sure she'd be only too willing to… express… her great fondness for all your various… attributes… no matter where they might be." The fingers of a hand slid down a neck to tangle in the damp, curling hair of a chest. Brown eyes, puddling with desire, lifted to consider him, as her other hand caressed a cheek before a thumb brushed across a pair of lips as darkening blue eyes watched her. When she finally lifted her eyes to meet his, his breath caught at the longing in them. "Am I ever going to stop wanting you this much?" His heartbeat rapidly increased at her words. He trailed his lips from cheek to brow to cheek, one of his hands moving to cup the back of her neck, the other one to stroke her sleek, wet back.

"I hope not," he whispered huskily, "Because I certainly won't you."

Mutual sighs were released as their lips met. For a long time, the only sounds emanating from the bathroom were frequent sighs, words of love whispered tenderly, occasional soft moans, and water gently lapping against the sides of the tub.

* * *

Later that evening, with dinner eaten and the flat locked up for the night, by mutual agreement Remington reclined against the headboard of their bed, while Laura stretched out across the width of the bed, head resting in his lap, as they went over the information she'd uncovered on their various nemeses a few nights before.

"Everyone's accounted for, so far as I can see," she told him, handing over the final sheet of paper. "The only thing that even drew a modicum of interest, where I was concern was this."

He scanned over the paper, brow rising. "Descoines in the prison infirmary for nearly three months now? Injured or ill, I wonder?"

"If I were a better person, I'd hope him well," she acknowledged. "But as it stands, as long as he is not running free…" she shrugged.

"Yes, I know what you mean," he agreed, setting aside the piece of paper with the rest of the reports. A hand moved to toy with her hair.

"Did I miss anyone that you can think of?"

"No one at all, unless we start looking at those we've offended internationally." He pondered something for a moment before speaking again. "There's a certain irony in all this."

"Oh?" She picked up his hand and began tracing pretty little patterns in his palm. A shimmer passed through him, as it always did.

"Mmmmm," he hummed in answer. "For years I've heard about people from my past coming back to haunt us. Yet, in the four years of our association I've managed to acquire triple the number of those wishing for a pound of my flesh than in the decade prior." Her hand paused, then resumed.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. He started, then leaned his head down to look at her.

"Whatever for?" Her finger stilled again as she glanced up at him. Returning her attention to his hand, she fingered his ring.

"If it weren't for the Agency, our work…." He cut her off before she could continue that vein of thought.

"If it weren't for the Agency, our work, I would have never met you, and that, Miss Holt, is not something I am even willing to consider. If having a few miscreants after my hide is the cost for having what we do, I'll gladly pay the price." Flashes of guilt set aside, she tilted her head back, smiling up at him.

"Is that so?" He gazed down at her affectionately.

"Do you even have to ask? Hmmm?" He adjusted himself slightly underneath of her. "Now, on to more pressing matters."

"I thought we delved deeply into those matters not too long ago, Mr. Steele," she teased, laughing at his confused expression, then smiling delightedly when he caught on.

"Mmmm, and your marked enthusiasm as I probed, only furthered the exuberance of my… excavation," he volleyed, waggling his brows at her.

"Well, you certainly drilled the point home," she commended.

"So I assumed, given the earth shaking response to my forays," he retorted with a lusty leer.

"A successful endeavor all around if your own explosive retort was any indication." Laughter filled blue eyes turned soft and serious. The back of his fingers grazed across her cheek.

"It always is with us, love."

Pushing herself up, she turned to stretch out on the bed facing him, waiting until he shimmied down to lay next to her. His fingers found her hair again and entertained themselves in the silken waves.

"You were saying we need to discuss something?" she asked, her own fingers wandering across his chest to romp through the dark hair that so enchanted her.

"I assume that the bags Fred brought up this morning were those that you packed for the villa?" He smiled quietly at the disappointed look that flashed momentarily across her face.

"They are." She crinkled her nose at him. "I guess I'll be unpacking them in the morning."

"I don't see why, as they'll be precisely what we need for where we're going tomorrow." Smiling wide, she shifted to prop herself on an elbow and look down at him.

"And where is that?"

"Why a deserted island, of course," he filled her in with a lift of his brow. "I've a boat reserved for us to pick up at the Marina tomorrow morning at nine."

"A deserted island?" She asked with amusement threading through her voice. He grunted confirmation. "A real deserted island?" She asked again.

"Quite real, I assure you. Just you and me, and not another soul to be found," he confirmed again, as he wriggled closer to her.

"Should I ask how you managed to stumble across this little find?" She hummed when his lips brushed across her neck, then wrapped an arm and leg over him when he rolled to his back. Snuggling in, she waited for him to answer.

"It belongs to a friend of Jocelyn's. She and Monroe visited several weeks back. She availed on him to allow us to use it, and it seems he was quite happy to lend it to Remington Steele and his new bride," he smirked, knowing the last would raise her hackles.

"New bride," she snorted. "At least it's an improvement over unknown woman or unnamed guest," she commented drolly, with a roll of her eyes. His hand swept rhythmically up and down her back, pausing to seek the flesh under the cloth of his pajama shirt.

"Laura?"

"Hmmm," she hummed, as her fingers stroked a rhythm of their own across his chest.

"Borrowing the words a certain beautiful young woman once said to me frequently, 'lose the shirt,'" he requested quietly. He felt her lips against his chest lifting into a smile.

"Why Mr. Steele, you know how I feel about equality," she answered playfully. "It hardly seems equal for me to only be wearing a teeny… _tiny_ … pair of panties, while _you_ remain half dressed." He grumbled his discontent at her seeming rejection. She waited patiently for him to catch on, felt his body shift under hers as he did.

"Are you suggesting what I believe you are, Mrs. Steele?" Shaking her head, she laughed aloud and pushed herself up on her arms to look at him.

"Lose the pants, Rem."

"It occurs to me, we wouldn't even be quite equal under those circumstances, given as you pointed out, your remaining garment can barely qualify as even that."

"I see. So you're suggesting the only way to be truly equal is to lose them all?" He gave a shrug meant to appear nonchalant.

"The idea does hold a certain logic… not to mention appeal." She pursed her lips, considering pretending to disagree, then gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. Truth be told, she enjoyed being skin-to-skin with her husband as much as he did she.

Sitting up, she shrugged off his shirt, then slipped out of her panties, tossing them to the end of the bed, watching with unadorned admiration as he did the same. Once he lay back, she stretched out across him again. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his bare thighs under her own. She was not alone in that, as he closed his own eyes, soaking up the feel of her skin, from shoulder to bottom, underneath his caressing hand.

Neither was another word spoken between the two of them that evening, nor did either attempt to turn the moment remotely sensual. The simply allowed contentment envelope them until they eventually drifted off to sleep.

(TBC)


	21. Chapter 19: Relax and Recharge

Chapter 19: Relax and Recharge

Saturday, October 4, 1986

When they'd arrived on the private island, roughly forty-five minutes by speed boat off the shores of LA, Laura had been absolutely enthralled. Remington could not deny that he too was shocked by the charming retreat at which they'd arrived. While yes, Monroe had told him stories of his time spent with Jocelyn there, the man had never gone into detail about the accommodations, other than to emphasize, repeatedly, the absolute privacy afforded by the locale.

The two story cottage stood at only around 1200 square feet, with a great room, kitchen and the one bathroom downstairs, the single, loft-style bedroom upstairs. That the house was perched on pylons, fifty feet out on the water, with ceiling-to-floor windows on two sides of the house and featuring doors that could be tucked away to create a truly indoor-outdoor experience set it apart from any other beach home either had seen. When lounging downstairs, it felt as though they were adrift on the ocean; when lying upstairs in bed, calm waters were all they could see for miles around.

It was private and blissfully serene.

Their first day there, they'd taken it easy, allowing themselves to destress from the events of the prior week before. A walk along the beach, a lunch for two, followed by a lazy afternoon soaking up the sun. Dinner for two by candlelight on the dock outside the house, a shared shower that led to predictable results, followed by a night of sound sleep, the silence of the house punctuated only by the sound of waves gently lapping at the nearby shore.

On Saturday morning, much like their time in Greece and the South of France, Laura woke to the mid-morning sun and a cool spot on the bed next to her where she expected to find Remington. Rolling to her back and stretching catlike, she inhaled deeply smiling at the scents wafting upstairs from the kitchen below. Slipping into the new swimsuit she'd purchased with her husband in mind, she tied the matching swim skirt around her waist, then after pulling her hair back into a pony tail, headed downstairs. She found him in the kitchen, as expected, similarly dressed in a pair of white swim trunks and a Hawaiian print shirt, left unbuttoned. She cast him a slightly envious look as already his skin had begun to bronze nicely. Pushing up on her tiptoes as his arm skimmed around her to embrace her at the waist, she brushed her lips against his.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele," she greeted him with a smile, before stepping away from him to perch on a nearby bar stool.

"Good morning, Mrs. Steele," he answered distractedly as his eyes wandered over her body, admiring the two miniscule triangles of fabric covering her breasts and the long expanse of legs showing beneath the swim skirt. He leered at her. "A positively delightful one at that."

"Funny, the same thing crossed my mind when I smelled whatever it is you're whipping up down here."

"Something with you in mind, I assure you," he grinned, returning his attention to the counter before him. Her mouth watered as she watched him drizzle a layer of semi-sweet chocolate on one side of a crepe before layering it with freshly slice strawberries before he rolled it up, drizzled more chocolate over the outside, then add a couple of dollops of fresh whipped cream to the top. It took until he'd completed the second crepe for her to realize he was toying with her, by deliberately assembling the crepes at an exceptionally leisurely pace.

"Alright, Remington, you've had your fun. Hand them over," she said, unable to affect the warning tone she'd planned and laughing instead. He gave her a sideways glance.

"I've no idea what you mean. I've had my fun?"

"Remington…" This time she did manage a warning growl, quite sincerely, and he gave her a silly little grin for her trouble.

"Ah, yes, never come between you and your food. I must've forgotten," he teased, setting the plate before her, then joining her once his own plate was complete. Taking a leisurely bite of his food, he simply enjoyed watching her eat – her eyes nearly closing after each bite of the confection, a look of absolute bliss on her face. "I take it you find the fare satisfactory, Mrs. Steele?" She looked at him, starting slightly to find him staring at her with an amused look on his face. She grinned at him.

"Mmmm, very," she agreed, then casting him a teasing look added, "I think I'll have to keep you around, Mr. Steele."

"Merely for my cooking?" He raised a brow at her while picking up a hand and suckling briefly on the pulse point of her wrist, a smug smile lifting his lips as he watched her fingers contract and her skin flush at the action.

"Well, no. There is a very obvious, second reason."

"And what might that be?" She smirked at him, refusing to assuage his ego.

"That you handle all the dry cleaning, of course," she dead panned. He stalled at her words, sitting back to stare at her in disbelief, before he threw back his head and laughed.

"That's what I love about you, Laura. Always striving to protect me from myself, never allowing anything to go to my head." Taking another bite of her crepe, she flashed a dimple at him.

"All part of my charm, Remington." Picking up her hand, he pressed his lips over the base of her wedding ring.

"That it is, love, that it is." Dropping her hand, he rubbed his hands together. "The beach? A swim? Take the boat out for the afternoon?" He wagged his brows at her. "That Tibetan massage I owe you?"

"Let's start with the beach and go from there."

* * *

The couple talked and lightly dozed in the sun's warmth on the beach for a couple of hours before Laura stretched, then stood up. Beside her, Remington pried open heavy lips to gaze sleepily at her. A hand reached out and circled her ankle, giving it a soft tug – a hint to rejoin him.

"Where are you going?" he asked in a sleep sluggish voice even as his eyes swept over her visage before him. The itty-bitty red bikini had been as much of a hit with him as she'd hope. She'd watched as he'd all but swallowed his tongue a couple hours before when she'd slipped off the skirt. Elegant fingers couldn't help but to trace the curve of her waist, the contours of her shapely little bum.

"Stunning," he'd mumbled in gruff voice.

Now, she gave her ankle a gentle shake to free it, that was accompanied by a likewise shake of her head and a soft smile. "For a run. I'll be back."

She gave a soft laugh as she sprinted away, leaving him grumbling to himself under his breath. "Take the woman off on a relaxing, romantic vacation and what does she wish to do?" He snorted softly as he settled his head back down on his arms. "Run." He was still quietly smiling when he let the warmth of the sun's rays drag him back under into a light sleep.

It might have been only minutes, or perhaps more than hour later when pleasant dreams of the day spent on the sailboat in Greece were interrupted harshly by a veritable tidal wave of cool water dousing him from head-to-toe. Shoving himself to his hands and knees quickly, he looked about only to find a waif of a woman grinning impishly at him, bucket in hand.

"You'll pay for that," he warned with a playful growl. She lifted her brow to him, dropping the bucket to the sand.

"Only if you catch me first, _Mr. Steele_ ," she challenged. She smoothly outmaneuvered the hand that tried to grab her leg. She laughed, smirking at him. She watched as determination lit his eyes and smile lifted his lips.

"I'll be doing that, _Mrs. Steele_ ," he retorted, launching himself to his feet, as she darted away from him towards the water's edge, her delighted laughter trickling in the air behind her.

She dodged, darted and veered away from him, putting whatever objects at her disposal between them when she needed to catch a breath – a tree, small putt-putt put up on blocks on the shore. Their laughter was frequent as the game continued on, until the last time she turned towards the water's edge attempting to allude him. In an admittedly daring move, he dove at her, catching her around the waist before they both ended up submerged in the surf. They broke the water at the same time, she slipping quickly from his wet hands and diving under the water, to emerge a dozen feet away. He followed in pursuit once more, strong freestyle strokes pulling him near her within moments. Settling his feet beneath himself, he swayed with the ebb and flow of the water, simply taking her in.

His heart was swamped by peace, contentment and pure, unadulterated happiness as he took in his wife's eyes sparkling with amusement, long locks curling over her shoulders, her dimples flashing in unfettered joy, and the utter sense of freedom written across her entire being. Completely captivated, he waded towards her, holding her eyes with his.

She kept her eyes locked with her husband's, as he slowly made his way towards her, as though she were a deer that might dart away at any quick movements. Her dimples only deepened at the thought, amused that not too terribly long ago she may have done exactly that. Now, she was caught up in the intense look on his face – longing, love, contentment, and happiness, all tangled together. She was held spellbound by the bright blue of his eyes, only enhanced by the water surrounding them. Long minutes – or was it only seconds? – later he stood near her.

His fingers toyed with a lock of her hair, before a thumb brushed across a dimpled cheek that seemed to hold him mesmerized for a prolonged period of time, before both hands slid along her cheeks, to cup her head on either side in his hands. Drawing her to her tip toes, he leaned down, kissing her with a gentle ardor, that drew her body close to his. A hand found his chest, fingering the wet hair, before laying its weight over his heart, feeling the quick but steady thrum of its beat. When his teeth gently nipped at her lower lip, she opened to him, even as her fingers found the hair of his head and tangled in it. When his tongue lightly teased hers then stroked, she wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself to wrap her legs around his waist.

He couldn't stop the soft rumble of pleasure that emanated from his throat, as he wrapped both arms around her waist, one hand reaching down to cup the soft contours of her bum to support her weight. He deepened the kiss, a touch more desire resonating in it as she wriggled in his arms. He ended the kiss abruptly when he felt damp cloth touch his shoulder, dangling over his chest and back. He drew his head back to look at the bikini top hung over his shoulder, and the daring look that had settled into hungry brown eyes.

"Here?" he sought to confirm her intentions, although the seemed patently clear.

"Here," she murmured against his neck, her mouth and tongue relishing the taste of sea and him, even as her nails raked lightly down his chest and across a nipple that grew taunt instantly.

"Here it is, then," he agreed, voice shaking as he arched back his neck, when her lips found and suckled at the base of it. His arms pulled her a little tighter against his body, as they lost themselves in each other.

* * *

After their thoroughly electric encounter in the waters of the Pacific, they returned to the house, packing up a quick lunch before taking the boat out on the ocean. Over lunch, they conversed about the new house, and their joint vision of making it a home. Pulling his sketchpad from out of the bag, Remington drew renderings of each room, adding furniture placement and accoutrements according to primarily Laura's vision, and they watched as their new home took on life. That everything they currently owned and planned to move with them, along with purchases to date, was shown throughout the sketches had an added bonus of allowing them make a list of what else would be needed. Like division of domestic duties, design of two rooms fell along each individual's passions: Remington would have full control over anything needing to be done in the kitchen, while Laura would be in charge of laying out the office.

After a playful, but tiring swim in the ocean waters, they at last pointed the boat towards home. Remington whipped up a delicious blackened salmon with lemon parsley rice for dinner, after which they sat at the end of the dock watching the stunning sunset across the Pacific, as they did what they had not three days before: A champagne toast to his arrival in her life, and she to his. Shortly afterwards, he excused himself for a moment, only to return wearing a pair of white linen pants, sans shirt, with a towel draped over his shoulder.

"I believe, Mrs. Steele," he told her, holding his hand out to help her to her feet, "that under the terms of our wager, I owe you one Tibetan massage." Resting his hand on her waist, he guided her towards the house.

"I believe you're correct, Mr. Steele," Laura grinned at him. With a smack on the fanny after they entered the house, he directed her upstairs to their room.

"Up you go, strip down, and stretch out on your stomach. I'll be right up."

He watched as she ascended the stairs, drawing a laugh from him when she shot him a small glare for the smack on her bottom. Collecting an ice bucket, their unfinished champagne and glasses, he went to join her. He stilled at the top of the stairs, taking a moment simply to admire the form of the woman stretched out before him. He longed to run his hands along her burnished legs, over the lily white contours of her bottom, and lavish each and every freckle that had darkened against her tan with attention. There was not an inch of her that didn't make his blood run hot, his heart quickening and makig him say a thank you to the stars above that she was at last his.

Settling himself next to her, he slid her hair out of the ponytail, freeing her hair that she had left to curl freely. Sliding his hands up into her hair, he began to massage her scalp, earning him a soft purr of approval.

"So what exactly does this massage entail?" She took a deep breath and let it out slowly as his fingers continued to work their magic.

"I believe I told you once, love. Full body, not an inch of you left untouched." She nodded her head under his fingertips, wriggling a little to get more comfortable.

They fell into comfortable silence for several minutes as his hands caressed her scalp. As he prepared to move down to her neck, he reached for the massage oil he'd set on the bedside table. Opening, it he poured a generous amount into a palm, then put the bottle back on the table before warming the oil between his hands.

"Mmmmm, Rem, this is wonderful," she hummed when his hands went to work on her neck and shoulders. "Has anyone ever done this for you?" Unseen, he raised a brow, wondering where that always active mind of her had taken her.

"Only the masseuse from whom I learned it."

"In Tibet?" He laughed softly.

"No, can't say I've ever been to Tibet. Hong Kong, actually."

"Was that when you met Shannon?" she asked, curious. He winced at the mention of the woman, not wishing to open that kettle of fish again.

"No. I had a very passing acquaintance with her the second time I traveled to Hong Kong." She fell silent for several minutes as he worked her neck and shoulders, before moving to her upper back.

"How many times have you, um, performed this massage?" His hands paused, and he sighed deeply.

"Laura, I don't know that these are waters into which we should tread," he told her, tension threading through his voice. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, curiosity alight on her face.

"Why not?" He gave her an exasperated look.

"Historically speaking, nearly anytime we've…waded… into my past, it's ended badly. I've no desire for a discussion, such as the one you seem intent on having, spoiling tonight, let alone the rest of our time together here." She twisted her body halfway around and leaned on an elbow to see him better.

"Why would it do that?" He stared at her in disbelief, then shook his head at her, not answering. She frowned slightly at him. "You know the entirety of my… dating… history and it doesn't bother you, does it?"

"That, I suppose, would depend on how you define 'bother.' If you mean that you have a history, no it does not. We've both always known the other has a history. If you mean would I prefer not to think of another man…" he swallowed hard then continued on, "… in bed with you… then yes, I would prefer not to."

"I see," she acknowledged, fighting off a smile, a small part of her pleased, for some reason, that he took issue with the latter. "But when we speak simply in the abstract it doesn't, so why would it me? Your… dating… history is as much a part of you as mine is me. If we avoid talking about it the rest of our lives, then there is an entire part of you that I won't know. _That_ bothers me." He tugged at his ear, then against his better judgement, nodded his head at her. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to answer her question as he resumed working on her upper back.

"Once. For Felicia, after we stole _The Five Nudes."_ He watched the back of her head bob up and down as she nodded.

"How long have you known Felicia?" He pursed his lips as he considered the question.

"Going on eight years now."

"How did you meet her?"

"She'd made plans to go after _The Five Nudes_ and had learned through the grapevine that I planned to as well. She made it a point to bump into me, quite literally as it were. We were at a small soiree and she 'accidentally' toppled a flute of champagne straight into my lap and made it a point to clean it up." He laughed and she could feel it as he shrugged his shoulders. "Later as we shared a round of drinks, she told me it was nothing but a little ruse to get me alone so that we could discuss… joining forces. She had a fairly decent reputation for being a skilled and crafty thief, so I agreed the idea might make a certain kind of sense. After all, better to have your adversary by your side than working behind your back trying to outmaneuver you." Pouring more massage oil in his hands, he warmed it again then moved to her lower back.

"And you became lovers right after. Riding that adrenaline high?" He dwelled on the question for a second before answering.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he answered, as honestly as he could.

"In a manner of speaking?" she laughed, pushing up on her elbows to turn and look at him again. "Care to explain?" He thought on it for a moment, then with a shrug expounded on his statement.

"When Americans use the word 'lover' they are rarely referring to a pair of adults simply indulging in a sexual liason. Moreso, the term is equated with an emotional involvement as well. Europeans, on the other hand, use many connotations of the word." She lay back down and closed her eyes, concentrating on his hands again.

"Alright. So you wouldn't describe Felicia as being your lover?"

"By American standards? No. Felicia was a sometimes friend, a consistent acquaintance, with whom I shared an enjoyable time in bed from time-to-time. Far more often when we ran into each other she was bedding someone else, as was I." Unseen by him, she pursed her lips as she mulled his answer.

"Would she see it the same as you?" she asked, curiosity having gotten the best of her.

"I think…" he said carefully, "… up until our last time in London together, she would have, yes." He felt Laura stiffen beneath his hands. He leaned forward and bussed her on top of the head. "Nothing like that," he assured her, "though not by wont of her trying." Adding more oil again, he shifted to her bottom, smiling as it twitched beneath his hands and she wriggled slightly at the sensation.

"The lake?" she asked, recalling Felicia's claim to her during that time, that Felicia and Remington had made love in front of a lake the night before.

"No, a barn," he supplied, sharing with her the details of that night.

* * *

" _ **This reminds me of that farmhouse in Bordeaux. Remember darling?" she'd asked as she ran a finger down the back of his neck. "You were quite the tiger then. Romantic, yet savage." Reaching over his shoulder, she ran a hand through the open v at his collar, caressing his chest. Irritated, he removed her hand, then placed the engine casing from the motorcycle he was working on in it.**_

" _ **Hold this, will you?" he asked. Felicia promptly flung it aside, returning her sites to him. With a wicked little grin, she bent down and nibbled on his ear.**_

" _ **Make me growl for more," she whispered seductively at his ear.**_

" _ **Felicia, did it ever occur to you we're in serious trouble?"**_

" _ **We're that way from the moment we're born, darling. The trick is to make the best of it." Jumping on him, she tumbled both of them into the hay. "And as I remember it, you were one of the best at making the best of it." With that she kissed him, forcefully. Prying her off of him, he set her aside and returned to the motorcycle.**_

" _ **Bordeaux's a long way from here. I have a new life now."**_

" _ **With Little Laurie?"**_

" _ **Laura**_ _ **. You were always so good with names, Felicia. Why it is you have such difficulty remembering that one?"**_

" _ **Perhaps because it is the only one**_ _ **you**_ _ **remembered for more than one night!"**_

* * *

"She was jealous," she noted, without rancor.

"Mmmmm," he hummed his agreement.

"That usually means someone has feelings for the person that is the focus of that jealousy," she pointed out.

"Or simply put out that they'd never inspired the same feelings as another had," he countered.

"Is that what you think it was… with Felicia?"

"She said as much, that night at the lake when I made it unequivocally clear that I was committed to you, and what we'd been building across the years."

* * *

" _ **Odd, that's the one thing none of the rest of us could ever squeeze out of you, no matter how persuasive we were."**_

* * *

She nodded and fell silent as she considered all he'd shared so far. "It would still seem to me, by that statement, that at some point she had feelings for you, hoped that you had the same for her. How else would you account for that bit about being unable to squeeze a commitment out of you?" He chuckled lightly, as he moved down and began working on a leg.

"A game, nothing more than that," he informed her, simply.

"A game?" she asked, perplexed.

"There were women that sought my bed simply in the hopes of being able to claim that they'd finally gotten me to do what no other had: commit to them. They saw me as a… conquest, a prize, nothing more." His words reminded her of what Monroe had shared with her in Vail about Anna.

"Bring you to heel, so to speak?" she posited quietly.

"Precisely," he confirmed. He patted her lightly on the fanny. "Turn over, love." Pushing herself up, she flipped over, carefully positioning herself back on the towel laid on the bed.

Lifting her hand, he leaned down and suckled at her pulse, watching with unhidden pleasure as her hand clenched and her nipples hardened at his antics.

"Massage, Mr. Steele," she said breathlessly, "unless you wish for me to engage in tit-for-tat." He chuckled in answer, then leaned down to taste her lips before sitting up, adding oil to his hands and turning his attention to her hand and arm.

She allowed herself to sink into the massage, concentrating on the gentle hands that smoothed over her body. How he managed to massage her breasts, her stomach, her thighs without her body stirring under his touch was beyond her. Just as he seemed to know how to light her body on fire with a single touch, he seemed to understand how to touch in a way that was completely asexual only leaving the tissue completely relaxed when he moved on. She hummed every now and then as his hands found a particularly tender spot, that he worked away with talented fingers. By the time he reached her feet, she felt as though she was floating in a semi-conscious state. With a gentle pat on the bottom of a foot, he signaled the massage was over.

"Go take a hot shower, love, it will complete the experience." Opening her eyes, she gave him a sultry little look.

"Care to join me… _Mr. Steele_?" she asked, climbing off the bed and holding out a hand to him. He quirked a brow at her.

"Do you even have to ask… _Mrs. Steele_?" She looked into the blue eyes that were rapidly darkening with desire.

"No, I don't think that I do."

* * *

 _ **A/N: The scene in the barn between Felicia and Remington was not written by myself. It is a scene from the original script of Steele Searching Part II, that never made it to the air. The scene, to me, expresses precisely how much has changed with him from Season 1 to Season 4, as he makes it clear that he is patently unavailable and his only concern at the moment is finding a way to see if Laura safely escaped.**_


	22. Chapter 20: I'll Never Let Go

Chapter 20: I'll Never Let Go

Sunday, October 5, 1986

As the early rays of dawn seeped through the windows in the bedroom, Remington stirred, automatically searching in his sleep for the warmth of his wife's body. It was in not finding her that he opened his eyes only enough to glance around the room, taking care not to allow his brain to register too much light so that he could go back to sleep once he lured her back to his side. Finding the room empty and sheets where she slept cool to the touch, he moaned softly. _Where's the woman gotten off to now?_ he wondered.

Sunday was the one day of the week he could count on Laura sleeping in, only waking when the smell of breakfast cooking roused her. When he woke, he'd allow himself a few minutes in which to snuggle closer to her, tucking his face in her hair, breathing in its familiar scent, luxuriating in the fact that this was their life – his life – these days, before rising from the bed and heading to the kitchen to get her meal going. _Apparently, she's decided to chuck that tradition straight on out the door today._ Extracting himself from the comfort of their bed, he went in search.

It didn't take him long to find her. Descending the stairs from their room, a quick perusal of the living room and kitchen confirmed she was not there, but movement from out on the dock caught his eyes. There she sat, knees bent, chin resting on them as she toyed with the rings on her left hand. Propping a shoulder against the door jamb, he simply stood and watched her for several minutes, leaving her time with her thoughts, but unable to tear himself away from the sight of the pretty picture she made there wearing only a robe, hair tousled, with the backdrop of blue water surrounding her.

Pleasant dreams had turned the corner into a nightmare again, when Roselli managed to find his way into her subconscious. For the first time since the nightmares had begun months ago, this one varied. It began, of course, in Paddington Station, as it always did, with she holding Remington's hand, feeling the warmth leaving his body through her fingertips, where his body lay on her lap, Roselli's intended plan successful. But this time it veered sharply, and she found herself standing by Remington's grave, watching as his casket was lowered into the dirt that would be his home for the rest of eternity. Her grief had been staggering, even in the altered reality of dreams, enough so that when she'd jolted from sleep, she felt the familiar stirrings of a panic attack tickling at the edges of her mind. She'd pressed herself closer to Remington, pulling his arm tighter around her, breathing in deeply his scent and felt the fear, the desperation that accompanied her attacks, marching ever forward, until she'd had no choice but to get up… go… leave… before it succeeded in pulling her all the way under. She'd fled for the dock, hoping the change of scenery would help her wrest control from her besieged mind.

It had taken a while and she'd had to use every ounce of her willpower, coupled with techniques learned in years past, but she'd finally managed to tamp down the fear that was the source of the pending attack. Once calm, she'd settled in, toying with her rings. One idea continued to flit through her mind, repeatedly. _I never wanted this._

Slowly, Remington sauntered across the dock, seating himself behind her, one knee bent, the other leg dangling over the edge of the dock. An arm slipped around her. Smiling, she leaned back into him, her hand running down his arm to his fingers where she laced then with hers.

"What has that magnificent mind of yours at work so early this morning?" he asked. She tilted her head back to look at him, considering whether or not to share those thoughts. She gave a mental shrug of her shoulders. _It seems to be what we do now,_ she reminded herself. She turned away and fondled his ring.

"You." That gave him pause. He ducked his chin down to lay rest on her shoulder.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or alarmed about that," he noted. She gave a small laugh.

"Me either," she noted drolly.

"As far as I know, I've done nothing this trip, at least so far, to cause you to take exception with me. So who have I offended, what rule have I tapped danced around one time too many, where have I been lax…" he began naming the various transgressions for which he would so often find himself on the wrong side of his wife's temper, while speaking in a comical tone. She laughed again and wriggled a little closer to him.

"It's not something you've done wrong. Not really. Maybe just the opposite: something you've done too well," she pondered aloud.

"Shall we mark the date on our calendar?" he asked jovially. "After all, it is seldom that I do something right, let alone too well." Turning her head towards him again, she gave him a half-hearted smile before returning her attention to his ring again. His amusement shifted to concern. "What's on your mind, Laura?" She breathed in deeply and then let it out. She held both of their left hands aloft, staring at their rings.

"I never wanted this," she voiced aloud the thought that had been repeating in her head the last hour. She felt him stiffen behind her, give a slight tug of his hand as though to pull it away. She held firm.

"What does that mean? Do you want out?" he asked, voice tight.

"Not at all. I want more, _that's the problem_ ," she contradicted, her voice strained. Behind her, Remington lifted his chin from her shoulder and rubbed his mouth. _Bloody woman is going to be the death of me,_ he thought as relief washed over him.

"More what?" he asked, perplexed. She pushed herself up, walking away from him several steps before turning back around. He spun on his bottom to face her, an arm resting on top of a bent knee. She threw her arms out in frustration.

"More weekends like these… More laying before the fire with you, dancing with you… more chasing down clues, solving cases with you… More making love with you… More.. more… more… time with you period," she clarified, her voice rising as she spoke.

"Laura, we've nothing but time, our entire lives, for that matter," he pointed out calmly.

"And how long is that?" she demanded to know. "We've got God knows who shooting at us, Roselli threatening you. Hell, he's already tried to end your life once." She pressed her fingertips to her temples, elbows akimbo. "I feel like time is running out."

"Why? We've been in similar fixes in the past and have come out on top. Why would you presume this time is going to be any different?" he asked, reasonably.

"I didn't want this," she muttered under her breath again. Now he stood to face her.

"Didn't want _what_ , Laura?"

"Do I have to spell it out?" She threw her arms out towards him. "This! I didn't want to love you this much. I didn't want to be as happy as I am with you. I didn't want to… to… to… treasure this life we're making as much as I do. I didn't want to want… no, _need_ you as much as I do. A part of me knew that this," she waved her arm again, "would happen if I let down my guard, let you in…" she trailed off.

"Knew what?" he inquired, voice softening. She looked at him and shook her head. Turning to look out over the water, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.

"I told you in Vail," she answered, her voice suddenly weary. "This is not like my father, or Wilson. My father was just my father. I loved Wilson, but he was just a boyfriend, nothing more. You? You're tucked into every area of my life. You are my partner at work, my best friend outside of it. My lover. My husband. We share a business, a home. If you go, you take everything. No partner to chase mysteries with. No friend to turn to. No lover to lose myself in. No husband to dream of the future with."

"I'm not going anywhere, Laura," he reminded her.

"At least not by your own choice," she agreed. "But we don't always have a choice do we? Don't you think Daniel would have stuck around longer to spend time with his son, if he'd had a choice? That the Earl would have stayed longer, to dream of the future with his new wife?"

"I've never known you to be so fatalistic," he observed with marked concern.

"Maybe it's the dreams. I don't know," she shook her head. She walked to the end of the dock and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms. "But I do know how hard it was when you… left, went to London. There were days I missed you so much that it _physically_ hurt. And that was before we had all of this." He'd latched on to the first sentence she'd spoken, unable to let it go past without explanation.

"What dreams?" he asked. She still for a moment, then turned and flicked a hand out dismissively.

"Paddington Station. But that's not the point."

"Which would be?" He'd never seen her mind whirl in so many directions at once, throwing him off balance, unsure what to address, when.

" _We_ don't sit back and wait for whatever is thrown at us next. We plan, we act, we go on the offensive. All of these unknowns are driving me crazy!" She held up a hand, ticking off fingers as she continued on. "What is Roselli planning next? How is he following us, with neither of us any the wiser? Why this obsession with us? Who was shooting at us the other day? Did they intentionally miss us to toy with us, or are they simply a bad shot?" Dropping her hand, it had no sooner reached her side, before she lifted it back up, reaching for her brow. "We need a plan. Starting with figuring out who took those shots at us Thursday." This time Remington closed in on her, tugging her back to lean against his front, briskly rubbing her arms.

"I agree. So what say when we get home we pull out those location checks again, and go through them thoroughly. Figure out who it is we missed. We know whomever it is that has made us a target we've rubbed the wrong way. They're there in our previous cases somewhere. We just have to find them and put a stop to them." She snorted softly then lifted a hand back to caress his cheek.

" _You_ , suggesting we slog through paperwork? What have you done with my husband, Mr. Steele?"

"Defies the mind, doesn't it?" he teased. "Rare, though it may be, I can withstand the tedium when the situation calls for it."

Unseen by him, she worried her lip with her teeth for a moment. "How would you feel about going home after breakfast?" Staving off his disappointment, he bussed the top of her head.

"Sounds like the chef needs to get to work." Releasing her, he turned to return to the house.

"Remington?" she called after him when he stepped through the doorway. He swiveled around to regard her silently. When she spoke, she did so with all the determination he'd ever seen in her. "I never wanted this, but I'll never let it go of it now." He stilled so long that she began to worry she'd miss stepped and a flush of embarrassment climbed up her skin. When he finally moved, the look on his face, his quick strides across the dock had her color climbing even higher. Her lips had barely begun to lift in a smile, when he snatched her into his arms, kissing her hard before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight, resting his cheek against the side of her head.

They stood that way for a long time, until her growling stomach demanded elsewise.


	23. Chapter 21: Back to Reality

Chapter 21: Back to Reality

"Bloody buggering hell," Remington ranted, tossing the dahlia from under the windshield to the ground and holding an envelope up in the air, crushing it between his fingers. "The blighter found us even here. I swear to you, Laura, if I get my hands on him…"

Laura bent over and picked up the flower from the ground. "Meyerson told us to keep anything he leaves, remember?" she asked in a calm voice that was the antithesis of the roiling emotions inside of her. "I imagine there'll be more waiting for us at home and the office, so you may as well be prepared, Mr. Steele." He cast a frustrated look at her, and yanked a hand through his hair.

"I'm calling Meyerson in the morning. If he's not made any headway on this, I'm taking matters into my own hands," he ground out, opening the trunk of the Auburn and unceremoniously tossing their luggage in.

"Oh, and exactly how do you intend to do that. The last time I checked, it was rather difficult to put your hands on a ghost," she noted drily, as he handed her into the car. She continued speaking as he rounded the car to get in. "Except for when he confronted me in the garage, both of us have yet to see him."

"I know," he fairly growled, tilting his head back against the seat and rubbing at his face. "I know, I know, I know." Dropping his hands, he reached for the key and started the engine. "I'll have Monroe put more men on us if necessary. One of them will have to spot him."

"Until then, let's focus on what we might be able to do something about: uncovering who took those shots at us, shall we?"

They stopped on the way home at the grocery store to pick up supplies for the week, usually part of the Saturday routine, disrupted, of course, by their spontaneous get away. As predicted by Laura, another flower and envelope awaited them at the door of the flat. Tempted though he was to grind his foot into the flower, Remington picked it up and deposited on the entryway table when they went inside. As he unpacked and put away the groceries in accord with his exacting specifications, she hit the play button on the answering machine on her way to the bedroom with their luggage.

 _Mr. and Mrs. Steele, this is Ms. Wamai calling for Mr. Meyerson. He'd like to see you both in the office Monday morning at 9 a.m. Unless I hear back from you, I will assume the appointment works for you and we'll see you then. Enjoy your weekend._

The machine beeped then continued on to the next message.

 _Laura, it's your mother. I just wanted to remind you and Remington about dinner at Frances and Donald's tomorrow. I'll see you there._

Another beep, then the final message played. He laughed quietly in the kitchen as he heard the expletive mumbled by his normally reserved, proper wife. Obviously she'd forgotten her mother had flown in from Connecticut for a long weekend with her children and grandchildren.

 _Laura, it's Bernice. Jason's parents have been driving us_ _crazy_ _wanting to know when we're going to make a trip to Cali with little man. Once they volunteered to keep him a couple of nights so we could catch up with old friends, what could we do? We'll be coming in next Thursday. Lose Skeezix Friday, because you and I are hitting the town! Call me!_

Remington popped his head out of the kitchen, a brow raised in amused irritation. "Skeezix?" he called questioningly to her in the bedroom. She popped her head out of the bedroom, lips quirking against suppressed laughter.

"You have Ms. Wolf, she has Skeezix." He scratched the side of his nose with a finger, as she disappeared back into the bedroom.

"Yes, well, it hardly seems an equal exchange," he complained. "I refer to her as a sleek, intelligent animal that always knows what it wants and pursues it with single-minded purpose, whereas she calls me by a name reminiscent of Mildred's slimeball."

"Technically, she doesn't call _you_ by it at all. She only uses the nickname with Murphy and I," she clarified. He pondered this at length and found himself still dissatisfied with the scant information provided.

"What, precisely, is a 'Skeezix'?" he called to her again. In the bedroom, Laura chuckled quietly.

"It's from _Gasoline Alley,"_ she answered, purposefully forcing him to search the myriad of trivia held in his head, knowing he'd come up empty. He did exactly that as he added the rotini to the pot of water now boiling on the stove. After giving the pasta a stir, he set down the spoon and stuck his head out of the kitchen again.

" _Gasoline Alley?"_ This time he heard her laugh at his question. _I knew he wouldn't be able to resist,_ she thought to herself.

"A comic strip. Skeezix is one of the characters. He was found on a doorstep as an infant and eventually named Skeezix. It's cowboy slang for 'motherless calf,'" she called back. He gave this some consideration, then decided he was not at all fond of the comparison.

"Once more I'm reminded that I call her by a name of a glorious, intelligent animal and she dubs me a dull-witted, calf. I believe I'm more than a bit insulted," he complained only to be met by more laughter, this time louder.

"She's not calling you a calf, Rem. It's a reference to a nameless person showing up on one's doorstep. You were exactly that, if you recall." He grunted his acknowledgement but found his ego little assuaged. "Although, I've always suspected it had double meaning for Bernice." _Perhaps this holds more promise,_ he grinned to himself.

"And what was the second?" he inquired. He heard his wife try to smother her laugh in the bedroom, and realized it was a portent for something he'd care even less for.

"I've always wondered if it was also a polite way of referring to you as skeezy, but cloaking it under the former reference. You did tend to bring out the worst in her, you know, constantly trying to irritate her for your own amusement." She smiled with mirth, knowing she'd peeked his curiosity. _It's going to drive him crazy until he knows what it means,_ she laughed to herself. She was enjoying the fact that she had the upper hand here, and they both knew it.

Remington returned to the stove to check and stir the pasta once more while searching his mind for various American colloquialisms to decipher the meaning of 'skeezy' and, much to his own irritation, came up blank again. Yet again, he moved to the doorway to call out to her.

"Skeezy?" He heard the trickle of her laughter from the bedroom.

"Cad. Rogue. Rounder. Womanizer. Lothario. Libertine…" she began ticking of the various synonyms one at a time. He grunted his dissatisfaction, then returned to the kitchen to toss Rotini into the pot of water boiling on the stove. Arranging a large handful of green olives on the cutting board, he began methodically cutting each in two and tossing them into a large bowl sitting next to the board. He'd just moved on to cubing the cucumbers when Laura returned to the kitchen. She lifted herself on the counter next to him to perch, snatching a piece of cucumber, noting his scowl. "Don't tell me it actually bothers you?" she asked bemused. "I _could_ … always tell her that you gave up your carousing shortly thereafter, and remained… chaste… for the next several years, if you'd like." That caught his attention and he looked at her with nothing short of horror.

"You'll do no such thing. Good Lord, I'd never hear the end of it. My reputation as the suave, urbane, Continental, able to sweep any woman off her feet would lay in tatters around my own." She raised her brows to him.

"While I always hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Steele, Bernice is already aware that it took you four years to get me prone, so to speak. I seem to recall a certain conversation in a bathroom at the Four Seasons…" She watched as he fidgeted, then turned to focus his full attention on the now cooked pasta. Pouring the pan into a strainer, he added ice to rapidly cool it. She watched with interest as he diligently avoided her eyes. "Does it upset you that I discuss… us… with Bernice?"

Taking the strainer out of the sink, he turned back to the island. Emptying the pasta into the bowl already holding the vegetables, he added a generous portion of crumbled feta cheese, before adding a couple of pinches of oregano, then balsamic vinegar and oil. He finally answered as he tossed together the salad. "Upset? No, not at all. In that particular instance, I was simply caught off guard, for lack of a better term. For a couple of reasons," he added vaguely. "Water or wine?"

"Water, I think. You?"

"The same."

"Let me." He nodded in response. She mulled what he'd said as she pulled a couple of glasses from the cabinet. "What reasons?"

"Let's get lunch on the table, eh? We can talk as we eat."

"Alright," she agreed, following him with their drinks into the dining room. Once they were settled, she asked again. "What reasons?"

"The simpler answer is that I'd inadvertently invaded a private moment between you and your friend, during which you were discussing a very… delicate… topic." He watched as she took a bite of her food, closing her eyes at the flavors mingled over her taste buds.

"I don't know how you do it, Remington," she complimented, earning a smile of pure pleasure from him. "And the more complicated answer?"

"I suppose I found it…" he paused, seeking the right word, "… perplexing, that you could so easily discuss your… thoughts on the matter… with her yet couldn't do the same with me. To hear your inner most thoughts in such a way? It was both overwhelming and frustrating at the same time."

"We'd discussed my preference for no condoms and why that was. In Vail," she reminded him, with a slight furrow of her brow.

"Brushed over the topic is more like it." He twirled his fork on his plate. "To hear the reasons, so detailed. You've no idea what it felt like to know why it meant so much to you. Yet at the same time, I wish you could have shared that with me as easily as you did Bernice. I was more than a bit envious, frankly."

"I understand. But even though we'd been working towards that kind of honesty with one another, I found the thought of getting that into detail with you embarrassing, to be candid. Slopes or no slopes…" she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I think we can discuss just about anything regarding sex now, though, don't you?"

"Mmmmm," he hummed, "that we can. In fact…" He stopped speaking when the telephone began to ring. Laura wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood.

"I've got it." She picked up the kitchen extension. "Hello?"

"Welcome home, Laura. Nice trip?" She froze at the sound of Roselli's voice on the other side of the line. Closing her eyes for a second, she gathered her wits about her.

"How did you get this number?" she asked, voice as hard as steel. In the dining room, Remington stood up quickly at both her words and the sound of her voice, striding briskly into the kitchen.

"I have my ways," he answered smoothly. "A private island? Nice. A last hurrah before you show him the door?" Her spine stiffened at his words.

"How did you…" she began, only to be cut off when Remington took the phone from her.

"Antony, I'll thank you to leave my wife alone, elsewise…" Taking the receiver away from his ear, he stared at it in annoyance as the sound of a dial tone droned on. Hanging up the phone harder than necessary, he turned to Laura.

"I've had about all of this I can take…" Nodding her understanding, she placed a flat palm against his chest.

"I agree. Hopefully Meyerson will have some good news tomorrow. For now, let's finish lunch and then go over those files to see if we can get to the bottom of whoever it was shooting at us." Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he gave a curt nod of his head, then returned to the dining room.

"The man's been nothing less than a blight on our doorstep since the moment you…" he hastily corrected himself "…since the moment he showed up." He gave himself a mental kick as he watched the light in her eyes dim, to be replaced with that same self-castigation she lost herself in any time the subject of that period from Las Haddas to Ireland was brought up. It was time for a little self-flogging of his own, in his opinion, and a change of subject. "Uh, Laura, I couldn't help but notice, you've yet to mention the message from your mother." The guilt reflected in her eyes changed to dread and she was unable to smother her small groan. Taking a bite of his salad, he eyed her with amusement.

"I thought we might stay home and focus our energies on indenti-"

"Lauraaaaaaa…" he drawled, taking another bite of his salad, while she shoveled a huge bite into her mouth, chewing vigorously.

"This is not a trivial matter. Those were real bul-"

"Lauraaaaa…." Taking another heaping forkful into her mouth, she attempted a little glare aimed in his direction.

"This is important," she managed to ground out around the food.

"I agree it's important. It's family," he smiled, deliberately misunderstanding her. Dropping her fork onto her plate, she leaned her head into her hands.

"Can't we just skip it this once?" she asked forlornly.

"And deprive your mother of the company of her favorite son-in-law?" He chuckled aloud. Only Abigail Holt could render his wife into the role of pouting teenager. His laugh coupled with the brag earned him a pair of brown eyes shooting daggers at him.

"Oh sure, laugh away. She fawns all over you, begging you for recipes, discussing plans for her next trip to Europe. With me? It's babies, giving up my career, and becoming more domesticated, like Frances," she griped.

"Yes, well… there is that. I must say, it is delightful to see someone other than myself can make you squirm so… though, admittedly, for very different reasons." Her brows shot up, and the corner of her mouth lifted into an impish little grin, his words providing inspiration. Standing, she walked around the table and slid into his lap.

"Speaking of squirming…" she ran a single finger down his chest, as she bent her head and suckled underneath if his ear briefly, grinning as the man himself squirmed beneath her. "We could…" her teeth teased an earlobe "…spend the afternoon in bed…" her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt as her lips wandered up his neck "…making each other…" a hand slipped inside his collar "…squirm." A hand captured her roving one.

"You're not playing fair, Mrs. Steele," he laughed, leaning away from her meandering lips. "I'd be more than happy to indulge in mutual…squirming…" She lifted her head smiling at him in triumph "…once we get home." Her crestfallen expression set him laughing again, earning him a smack on the shoulder before she wrested herself off his lap. "Now, why don't you gather together those files, while I clean up. I'd say we've about two hours before we need to leave for Tarzana. That should prove enough time."

Laura tromped towards the bedroom, muttering under her breath about traitorous spouses, leaving him grinning after her. Truth was, enthusiastically or not, she never failed to honor familial obligations. Oh, she'd vehemently dread them – less so their bi-weekly visits to Donald and Frances, but still as passionately as ever a visit that involved her mother – but she would plaster on a strained smile and honor them all the same.

"The next time I get married, I'm going to make sure the vows state something about my husband helping me avoid my family," she called to him. Remington's head popped up from where he was leaning over the sink cleaning their lunch plates. Rinsing off the plate he grabbed a towel to dry it as he stuck his head out the kitchen door.

"The next time you marry?" he sputtered. "Surely a divorce is not in the offing simply for me encouraging you to spend time with your family."

"Forcing might be the more appropriate word," she called back.

"Now, Laura, I'm not forcing you to go. I'm simply not offering opportunities for you to wiggle around it," he countered.

"Exactly as I said then: not helping me avoid my family, particularly Mother." She started, as his arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her back to his front. Her husband could be as quiet as a cat… burglar… when he put his mind to it.

"Seems to me, I run more than adequate interference during these gatherings on your behalf. Your next husband may not be so talented in that regard," he nuzzled her neck, "nor so keen in his devotion to relaxing you after." She hummed against his cheek.

"There is that," she acquiesced. She wriggled around in his embrace to face him. "You had just better be on your toes today, buster," she instructed, wagging a finger at him.

"Most assuredly, Miss Holt. Have I ever let you down?" She scowled at him. "Recently?" The scowl deepened. "Today?"

"Not yet, but the day is long." He flashed her a bemused half-smile.

"I give you my word that I'll rise to the occasion," he promised solemnly. The insolent glint in his eyes clued her in on his game.

"At dinner," she clarified. He pretended shock.

"I don't know how appropriate that would be, but if you insi-" The word was cut short as the heel of her bare foot met the toes of his. "Uuuumph."

"Are we clear?" she asked, smirking at him.

"Yes, yes, patently so," he agreed with a grimace.

"Then let's get to work," she suggested, slipping out of his arms, gathering up the paperwork and walking into the living room. Grabbing his foot, he massaged the assaulted tissue.

"I'm going to make certain my next wife respects her husband's need for his feet," he called after her.

"Promises, promises, Mr. Steele," she called back without concern.

He tottered behind her, mumbling about spouses whom damage the appendages of the other spouse without the slightest bit of empathy after having done so.

* * *

An hour and a half later, Remington and Laura had amassed a new list of nemeses to be checked out. Paul Dominick, Alexander Sebastian, Millicent Fairbush, Arnold Baskin, Joseph Barber, Creighton Phillips, Mary Dannon, Considine, and Harry Cranston, among others, suddenly found themselves on the suspect list. Work complete, Laura stretched, the reluctantly stood up to go get ready for their command dinner appearance, grumbling to herself all the while. By the time they reached the Rabbit, cranky would have been a generous word to describe her. As the Rabbit flew along the highway towards Tarzana, she taking her frustration out on the road, he stroked his thumb over the fingers entwined with his. Weekend traffic on Highway 101 was not helping his wife's disposition at all.

 _At this rate, she'll be fit to be tied by the time we arrive at Frances and Donald's,_ Remington noted to himself. _What's a man to do?_ A devilish gleam lit his eyes, as the word _paybacks_ drifted through his mind, recalling her antics at the lunch table.

With that in mind, he lifted her hand to his mouth, nibbling the pad of each finger, watching as her fingers first twitched, then contracted, as he lathed them with attention.

"Mr. Steele, I'm driving," she reminded him, voice tight.

"Indeed you are, Mrs. Steele. With verve, I might add," he quipped. The tip of his tongue drug along the lines of her palm induced a small gasp to pass her lips. He grinned smugly.

"My point is, it may not be the wisest time for you to be doing this," she pointed out breathily.

"Seems the perfectly suitable way to while away the drive to me," he disagreed, moving from palm to wrist and suckling there. The car jerked in response. He looked up at her with amusement. "Take care, love. The Rabbit only has so many lives left before it's permanently retired." He suckled a little more firmly, then watched with delectation as goosebumps traveled up her arm.

"Need I remind you we only have one life a piece?" she managed to force past her lips.

"Valid point. In spirit of that, may I suggest you pay attention to the road then?" he asked nodding towards the line she was crossing right before the driver in the neighboring lane laid on his horn. His lips meandered up the length of her forearm, until his lips settled on the inside of her elbow.

"Remington Chalmers Steele!" she admonished, then groaned, refusing to look in his direction knowing what she'd see. Early on in their marriage she'd addressed him in such a manner when vexed with him, only for him to shove his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot-to-foot, a happy grin spread a mile wide on his face. Indeed, he flashed his pearly whites at the moniker now. He'd realized that same night that a wife could only chastise you so when you had a name all your own with which to do it. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath, knowing she'd lost the war before the battle had even begun. He suckled the sensitive skin on her inner elbow, sending flames shooting through her body and a flush across her skin.

"Rem…." she tried one last time, then groaned anew as he nibbled his way back down her arm to her wrist.

"Paybacks, love," he chuckled.

When they arrived at the Piper's twenty minutes later, Laura was flustered, flushed, and famished – for him. The irony that she'd arrived in much the same way the last time her mother visited was not lost on either of them. Her prim little walk on the way to the front door, trying to appear nothing was amiss, only amused him all the more.

"Tit-for-tat, Mr. Steele," she reminded him under her breath.

"I look forward to it, Mrs. Steele," he returned in kind, pressing his lips to her cheek, and wrapping an arm around her waist in a little hug.

With a sigh, she reached up and depressed the doorbell.

* * *

When no imminent disaster appeared to be pending, when her Mother had managed to keep her little digs to a minimum, Laura was finally able to relax. Dinner had been, par for the course, a lively and chaotic affair, with five adults and three children gathered around the table. Remington was prepared to call the evening a resounding success.

After dinner was complete, he and Laura volunteered to rinse the dishes and start the dishwasher as Abigail and Frances had prepared the meal. In the relative quiet of the kitchen, she allowed the last of the tension held in her shoulders to release. The couple bantered and quipped throughout the chore, making it a thoroughly enjoyable endeavor. When the last glass was placed in the rack and the dishwasher was turned on, she turned to him and slid her hands up over his chest and around his neck, allowing her fingers to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. Smiling down at her, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You seem to be in an inordinately good mood, given the company," he observed.

"It's been a nice night. I'm glad we came," she admitted.

"I'm torn between being pleased that you're enjoying yourself or disappointed that you'll not need my attentions later this evening to forget about the night's events," he joked.

"I might be persuaded to make _you_ … squirm… when we get home," she teased with a mischievous twinkle lighting her eyes. A trill of pleasure skirted through his stomach, knowing all too well how… proficient… she was at making him do just that when she set her mind to it. "Maybe even beg…" A hum of mostly anticipation, a little dread, rumbled low in his throat. Numerous times his petite wife had left him doing just that through her creative spins to their love making.

"Perhaps, we should call it an early evening – leave on a high note, as it were," he suggested, leaning down to touch his lips to hers.

"I think you may find me amenable to that idea," she answered, pressing herself up on her toes, taking the kiss up several notches.

When they parted, he smacked his lips several times, then grabbing her by the hand, pulled her behind him into the living room. Charmingly begging for forgiveness while claiming a work-related emergency was tearing them away, the couple made haste out of Pipers to home.

(TBC _ **)**_

* * *

 _ **A/N: My most sincere appreciation goes out to LizzieGatz for providing the information on the origin of Skeezix. It just goes to show that endless research cannot match the knowledge already locked in one's mind. Thanks Lizzie!**_


	24. Chapter 22: Mildred's Rebellion

Chapter 22: Mildred's Rebellion

Monday, October 6, 1986

Hand stretching out to turn off the alarm, Laura laughed softly to herself as Remington mumbled blasphemous opinions about Bud and Norman, KROT's DJ's, under his breath as he did nearly every work day morning. With the offending noise silenced, he adjusted himself more firmly against his wife's warm body, then settled back into sleep. She took a couple of minutes to enjoy the feeling of her husband's body wrapped around hers, before stretching out then slipping from the bed with catlike grace. Pulling on her robe, she wandered into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker, before returning to their bathroom to shower and prepare for the day ahead.

As nearly scalding water sluiced over her body in the shower, she allowed herself a self-satisfied smile recalling the night before. As soon as they'd shut the door to the flat, she'd backed Remington up against the wall and began her campaign of seduction on her husband. When she'd murmured the words "no touching", after a series of scorching kisses had been exchanged, he'd groaned both in regret and anticipation. She'd taken him to Nirvana the first time, there against the wall, with her words, hands and mouth, leaving his entire body quaking before she'd moved them over by the fireplace, where she'd waged an assault of slow, torturous seduction on him. A slow – very slow – striptease where each piece of clothing was removed only after long, long periods of touching and exploring his body in between, had left him panting, sweating and grasping whatever he could nearby in the effort not to touch his wife's sweet little body or to wrest control from her. She ignored even his breathless pleas, the first half dozen times after they'd begun, only releasing him from the pleasure filled torture when his words had become heavily laced with the Irish cadence that she so adored and even then it was she, still in control, that had taken them over the edge into oblivion again. They'd stumbled into bed afterwards, forgoing their nightly talk, and had fallen into a deep, sated sleep in one another's arms.

She relished what she could do to this man she loved, as much as she reveled in the heights he could take her to. And they were both devoted to figuring out new ways of how to take one another there.

In the days after they'd first crossed that line, she'd on occasion wondered if the skills used on her by her new lover were tricks learned in his rather prolific past. The thought had left her a little… bereft. Borrowing from the words he'd said to her only the day before, she was well aware he had a past – one hell of one at that – but the image that would occasionally tromp through her head of him with another woman left her a bit… queasy. As days turned into weeks, she'd realized that regardless of the… skills… he'd mastered across his life, the way he made love to her had nothing to do with his past, but everything to do with his present. Over the months since Vail, he, like she him, had ferreted out many of her secrets. And, like her, he devoted himself to memorizing each inch of her skin through touch alone. There were many nights it was she that had to turn the tables on him, taking them to the finish line, as he'd spend hours contentedly learning and relearning the curve of her waist, the nuances of the soft skin of her neck, the gentle ridges of her ribs, the parts of her stomach that were most responsive and most ticklish, and the way each part of her body liked best to be stroked that would leave sparks crackling in the wake of his touch. Even now, when making loved turned that quiet corner towards lovemaking, he'd lose himself in the simple joy of tracing her small frame.

And on nights like last night, she'd remind him of all the days and nights she'd learned diligently, determinedly, delightfully, all of him as well. He was not alone in finding a wondrous contentment and joy in the touch of his fingers of her skin. She could immerse herself in allowing her fingers to dribble across his shoulders, ever so slowly; in how a hand glazing over his side would wrest a sigh of peace filled bliss from his lips; in how her fingers lingering in his hair, massaging his scalp, would find him leaning into her hand as he simply reveled in the pleasure of her touch.

Shaking herself free of her reverie, Laura stepped from the shower and toweled herself dry. In her ever efficient matter, she was dressed and perfectly coifed within fifteen minutes, as she enjoyed the cup of coffee sitting close at hand on the bathroom counter. They had their meeting with Meyerson at nine, and she wanted to stop by the office to pick up the file Murphy had overnighted to them before they met with the attorney.

Strolling over to the bed, she bent down to press her lips against her husband's whiskered cheek. She resisted the urge, as bright blue yet sleep drugged eyes peeked open, to crawl back in bed and let those whiskers pleasantly scratch against the sensitive skin of her neck. Instead, she lay her lips next to his ear.

"Don't forget Meyerson's office at nine," she told him softly. "I've set the alarm for seven-thirty. I'll see you there."

He hummed his acknowledgment and she fondly ruffed his hair, before slipping out of the bedroom, grabbing their new list of suspects off the coffee table and sliding it into her purse on her way out of the flat.

She was not surprised in the least by the flower and envelope that greeted her at the Rabbit. With a sigh, she pulled both from under the windshield wiper blade holding them down, then tossed them on the front seat, before her purse landed atop of them. She was beginning to pity Roselli for his lack of originality. With a small laugh and a shake of her head, she dropped into the driver's seat and lowered the roof. The news had promised a beautiful day and she intended to take advantage of every bit of it on the way into the office. With her ever-critical husband home and in bed, she cranked up KROT, intermittently laughing at the antics of Bud and Norman, and belting out Robert Palmer's _Addicted to Love,_ as well as Madonna's _Papa Don't Preach_.

She'd just swung the Rabbit into a parking spot at Century Towers when the car phone rang.

"'Lo," she chirped into the phone, feeling a bit playful after a trip to the office accompanied by inane humor and pop songs of questionable quality. _A great way to start the day_ , she grinned to herself.

"Laura, where in the blue blazes are you?" Remington's raised voice came through the line. She pulled the phone away from her ear and gave it a frown, before returning it to its place at her ear.

"I just pulled into the office. Is something wrong?" she asked, puzzled.

"I woke to find my wife gone, with no idea where in the bloody hell she's taken herself off to… without Monroe's man to watch her back, even as a bloody lunatic has been stalking her, no less! You're damned right something wrong!" Taking the phone away from her ear again, she shot bullets at it this time. Carefully tamping down the temper threatening to flare up at both his words and tone, she reminded herself he was simply reacting to the events of the last week. Taking a deep, calming breath, she put the phone back to her ear.

"I woke you before I left, if you recall, and told you I'd meet you at Meyerson's office," she pointed out.

"Clearly, I wasn't awake enough to understand you intended to leave… _by yourself_ ," he emphasized again. "What were you thinking, Laura? Perhaps, a better question is: were you thinking? To put-"

She looked with satisfaction at the receiver sitting squarely upon the base of the phone again. Her temper had shot through the stratosphere when he'd posed the question, 'were you thinking.' Fuming, she grabbed her purse and climbed out of the Rabbit. Heels clicking across the asphalt, she muttered angrily to herself.

"Were you thinking, Mr. Steele, that I'd put up with you talking to me like a child who'd crossed the street without permission? Of all the… the… the gall. I'm a grown woman. I neither need permission to go somewhere nor to go there without an escort. I'm not the little woman. I'm not going to stay where I'm put. And I can sure as hell take care of myself!"

She silenced the rant as she rode up the elevator with an attorney from the fifteenth floor and an advertising executive from the eighteenth. Departing on the eleventh floor, she resumed ranting under her breath.

"Thinks a ring and a couple of vows gives him the right to dictate…"

Her words cut off abruptly, when her brain registered that the Agency doors should haven't swung open under the push of her hand. Glancing around the room for a potential weapon, she shook her head and grabbed the plant sitting on the ledge across from Mildred's desk. The sound of a cabinet door slapping shut directed her towards their copy and break room. _Remington will never let me hear the end of it if it's Roselli,_ the thought occurred to her as she crept closer. Lifting the pot above her head, she waited and as a figure emerged, she swung it downward…

Stopping just in the nick of time when a woman screeched.

"Mildred!" Laura sagged against the doorway. "What are you _doing here_?" she demanded to know, her heart thumping in her chest. Mildred fanned a hand at her face.

"That's some greeting there, Miss Holt," she answered breathlessly. "I could ask the same of you. You and the Boss aren't scheduled to be back in the office until Wednesday!"

"And you're supposed to be out of the office until further notice. Doctor's orders!" Laura pointed out, putting the plant back on the ledge as Mildred made her way, fairly proficiently, to her desk on her new set of crutches.

"Miss Holt, I love my nephew, he's like my own child, you know that," Mildred explained. "But if I had to spend one more minute with Bernard hovering over me… Well, let's just say, it wouldn't have been pretty." Laura pursed her lips thoughtfully at their trusted secretary's words.

"Oh, I can understand that. _Believe me_ , I understand." Mildred eyed her critically as she plopped none to gracefully down into her chair and set her crutches aside.

"Anything to do with your most recent admirer?" she queried, even as she picked up yet another flower and envelope off of her desk and held it out to the younger woman. Laura scrunched her face then rolled her eyes, both at the offering and the words.

"Everything and he's not so secret any longer," she admitted. The older woman's eyes widened as her mouth formed an 'o'.

"Well, don't keep me hanging. Who is it?" Mildred asked eagerly, curiosity abounding. Laura looked at the woman, shaking her head, knowing what would come as soon as she uttered the name. Taking a deep breath, she let out her frustration.

"Tony." Their trusted secretary stared at her, sorting out the name in her mind, then pushed herself up on her good foot and leaned against her desk, scowling.

"Roselli? He's sniffing around at your heels again?!"

"Not in the way you think, though that might be preferable," Laura answered drolly.

"Oh? I wasn't aware there was more than one way to sniff," Mildred answered just as drily, raising her brows at Laura expectantly. "Then what exactly is the dirt bag up to this time?"

"It's hard to say, exactly," Laura hedged. "He says he wants Mr. Steele out of the way, and me all to himself, but I don't think I'm buying it." Mildred huffed and sat back down, resting her weary leg.

"That's exactly what it looked like to me the last time the slimeball was shadowing you and the Boss everywhere," she noted.

"There's a lot you don't know," Laura sighed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as goosebumps erupted across them. "It's just a feeling…" She fell silent as the Agency phone began to ring. Frowning towards it, she gave Mildred instructions. "If that is Mr. Steele tell him I'm not available, I'll see him at the attorneys in forty-five minutes, and remind him to bring the envelopes and flowers we've been… collecting the last few days."

Mildred shot a frown in her direction, letting her know they'd be having a little chat once she dealt with whomever was on the line. Picking up the phone, she said cheerily "Remington Steele Agency."

* * *

Remington stared at the receiver in his hand, trying for several long seconds to accept that Laura had actually hung up on him. He hung up the receiver, his temper rising as did. Snatching the receiver back up, he dialed her car phone again. When it went unanswered, he disconnected the line, then dialed again.

"Good morning," Monroe's melodic voice came through the line.

"She's at the Agency. Get your men over there if you don't mind," Remington told him without preamble.

"I'll dispatch them post-haste. They'll be nipping at her heels again within mere minutes, my friend," Monroe insured him.

"Thanks, mate, and sorry for the troubles this morning. I'm sure she and I will be having…words… about it later."

"I'd be careful in that, old friend," Monroe recommended sagely. "Approach your lovely wife in the wrong manner, and it will be she speaking the words, quite heatedly at that." Remington swept a hand through his hair in aggravation.

"Yes, well, that ship may have long sailed," he grudgingly acknowledged. Monroe laughed uproariously on the other end of the line.

"You are a brave man, Mick, to court her displeasure."

"Temper, mate, temper," he grinned. "A fine one at that. Get your men on her. I'll be joining her at the attorney's office shortly." Saying their goodbyes, Remington hung up the receiver, only the pick it right back up again, this time calling the Agency. The phone rang several times before it was answered.

"Remington Steele Agency," Mildred greeted. Hearing her voice gave him pause for a moment.

"Mildred? What are you doing at the office? I seem to recall the doctor instructing you to stay at home until he cleared you to return." His concern for her was genuine, as he recalled again when he'd received the phone call she'd been involved in an accident.

"Doctor, schmoctor, what does he know?" she asked with a little snort of indignation. "I'll have you know I've been deciding what my body is or is not capable of doing for fif-…. Forty-five years now. I was going stir crazy at home, so now I'm here. What can I do for you, Chief?"

"Is Mrs. Steele still there, by chance?"

"She is."

"Put her on, if you will."

"Sorry, Chief. No can do. She said to let you know she's unavailable." Laura had been toying the pens in Mildred's pencil holder. Her head snapped up and she gave Mildred a little glare.

"Did she now?" he asked, more than a bit miffed. "Standing right in front of you, is she?" Mildred glanced at Laura while nodding.

"She is."

"Then, if you don't mind, tell her I wish to speak with her." Mildred harrumphed in response.

"I do mind. I don't know what's going on with the two of you, yet, but neither of you are putting me in the middle of it. Sorry, not happening, Boss." Remington pulled the receiver from his ears and stared at it as though it had grown horns. He decided to try another tact.

"Mildred, the Boss has spoken. Now put Miss Holt on the phone." He spoke firmly, expecting her immediate capitulation.

"Is this a business matter?" she asked coolly.

"Well, no, but…" he scrubbed at his face with his hand, not knowing how to handle a non-compliant Mildred.

"No, buts about it," she answered adamantly. "Now, Mrs. Steele did ask that I remind you to bring the envelopes and flowers to the attorneys."

"Of course, but – "

"I already told you no 'buts'," she reminded him.

"Tell him he better arrive with an apology in hand as well," Laura interrupted. Mildred shoved the phone in her direction.

"Uh-uh, Mrs. Steele, that goes for you, too. If you have something to say to your husband, you do it yourself." Laura looked at her, shocked, and shook her head adamantly. On the other end of the phone, Remington felt somewhat better hearing Mildred giving his wife as hard a time as he. "Is that all?" she asked into the phone, while giving Laura a hard look at the same time.

"Yes, Mildred," the said meekly in unison.

"Good." She dropped the receiver back on the base of the phone.

For the second time that morning, Remington stared at the phone as a dial tone droned from the ear piece. Shaking his head, he hung it up and headed to the shower, mumbling to him about hot-headed, stubborn wives and insolent secretaries.

* * *

"Now, spill," Mildred demanded, once she hung up the phone. "What feeling?" Laura immediately began kneading at her brow at the question.

"I don't have time to get into all of that, right now. We have an appointment with Meyerson at nine." At Mildred's frown, she assured her, "I'll fill you in once I get back from our appointment. In the meantime, if you really intend to work today," Laura opened her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper, handing it to Mildred, "If you could start working on the current status of everyone on this list, that would be of enormous help."

Mildred scanned the list of names. "If you already know who your… slimeball… is, why are you still looking at people from former cases?" she wanted to know.

"Someone used Mr. Steele and I for target practice last Thursday," Laura told her off-handedly, her mind already wandering to what she would say to her overbearing husband when she saw him shortly. "Since we don't have any current open cases that would inspire that kind of commitment, it would appear whoever it is, is likely someone from a prior case."

"I'll get right on it," Mildred assured her, all business now.

"Mildred, did I receive something from Denver overnight? I was expecting it to arrive on Friday."

"On your desk," Mildred answered, already preoccupied with booting up her computer.

Laura strode to her office. Picking up the envelope, she sat down and kicked up her feet onto the corner of the desk, tapping the envelope against an open palm. She and Remington were already familiar with the information contained within as Murphy had filled them in months ago when they'd returned from their honeymoon. Still, she positively itched to shut her office door, tear open the envelope and go through it all with a fine toothed comb. Sighing, she stood back up and slipped the envelope into her purse. It would have to wait. She had to get across town for their meeting with Meyerson.

"I'll be back soon," she called to Mildred as she crossed through the reception area.

"Mmmmm," Mildred hummed in answer, already engrossed in the research she was conducting on former foes.


	25. Chapter 23: Manipulations & Falsehoods

Chapter 23: Manipulations and Falsehoods

Laura watched as an older sedan followed her into the parking lot at the building where Meyerson's offices were ensconced. With a shake of her head, she alighted from her car. Apparently, her husband had managed to redirect Monroe's man to the office, as the car had followed her from there. With a sigh, she recalled her reluctant agreement to allow Remington at least this much peace of mind. Still, it simply rubbed her wrong to allow a car to follow her, when years of experience had taught her to hit the gas and evade.

She found Remington cooling his heels outside the doors to Meyerson's office. When he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, she smoothly turned her head away. His lips caught the side of her head, and earned her a pinched look from her husband.

"Still a bit miffed, I see," he noted.

"Oh, more than 'a bit'," she answered blithely.

Looking heavenwards, he said a small prayer for patience. It was one thing to have Laura's temper directed towards him when it was well-earned, quite another when he was in the right and in his opinion, this situation was most definitely the latter. His hold on his own temper was iffy, at best, right now, and he hoped that they could both convey the portrait of the happily married couple to Meyerson when they met with him shortly, and that neither would set the other's temper off. At the end of the day, he held little hope in either regard.

After checking-in with the receptionist, he sat down heavily in the seat next to her. The silence lingered, thick and unwelcoming. He glanced at her taking notice of the prim way she sat: back ramrod straight, shoulders back, and hands clutching the purse in her lap. Rubbing his neck, he pondered what to do. After long minutes passed, he sighed deeply, and knowing he was likely about to infuriate his petulant partner, grabbed her hand and pulled her from her seat.

"We'll be right outside, should Mr. Meyerson be ready to meet," he informed the receptionist, who nodded knowingly at him, only drawing another sigh from him. To give his wife credit, she didn't drag her feet or require him to literally drag her from the office, but went willingly.

The second the door closed behind them, she spun around, ire sparking in her eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded to know. He slowly closed in on her, until she stood against the wall. Leaning on an arm, he moved close enough that he could speak in a bare whisper.

"I realize, Miss Holt, that you are intent on making it patently clear that you are displeased with me. However, might I suggest that this isn't necessarily the best of times. We hardly present the portrait of wedded bliss, and we're expecting that man in there to cite we are exactly that to the INS," he suggested in a deceptively calm voice. His own temper was peaking by now.

She tilted her chin up, the portrait of stubbornness. He closed his eyes and blew out a deep, slow breath.

"Laura," he drew out her name, the tones of a soft plea threading through it. That caught her attention and she looked up, and seeing the strain, the worry on his face, let out a breath of her own, relaxing against the wall. She lay a hand against his chest, wordlessly assuring him all would be fine, and felt some of his tension flow away from his body.

"You're right. Now's not the time," she relented, then followed that up with a warning. "But don't think we won't discuss this when we get home."

"I'd expect nothing less," he agreed. He bussed her on the forehead. "Thank you," he told her in quiet sincerity.

"You're welcome. Let's get this over with, hmmmm?" With another buss to the top of her head and a brisk nod, he followed behind her into the office a hand on the small of her back.

Upon re-entering the reception area, they were immediately directed back to Meyerson's office. As in the last two times they'd met, Meyerson stood to hold out a hand to the couple.

"Seems to be getting a habit," Remington remarked. "Might be more enjoyable to make thrice weekly lunch dates at this point, eh?" Meyerson chuckled at his remark as the three of them sat.

"Before we begin," Meyerson started, nodding towards the envelopes and flowers lying now on his desk, "I'm assuming these are from Roselli as well?"

"We can only presume. We haven't opened any of the envelopes as of yet, but I believe the dahlia's speak for themselves," Remington answered in the affirmative.

"Any contact beyond these?" Meyerson inquired further, while picking up the envelopes and looking them over.

"A phone call." This time it was Laura who answered.

"Do you mind?" Meyerson asked, raising his brows towards the couple, then looking pointedly at the letter opener held in hand.

"Not at all," she assured him.

"The content of that call?" he further probed as he slit open the first envelope. She glanced at Remington, then returned her gaze to Meyerson.

"He asked if I had a nice trip… a 'last hurrah' before I rid myself of Remington," she answered tightly.

"Had you been on a trip?" She nodded, then realizing he was focusing on the contents of the envelope answered aloud.

"We'd come home from a short vacation a few hours before," she confirmed. This time it was he that nodded as he read the contents of the final envelope. Looking up, he addressed them both.

"Any reason you haven't opened these?"

Laura and Remington shared a look, each asking the other silently, _why?_ Looking back at Meyerson, she raised both her hands and then dropped them. Remington shrugged one shoulder at the attorney, acknowledging he had no explanation as well.

"Would you like to know?" he pressed. Laura looked to her husband again, who raised his brows at her.

"Sure, why not," she agreed without enthusiasm. He picked up the first piece of paper.

"' _How does it feel to know that your so-called husband sees you as second best to a hooker_?" Laura flinched as the words hit home. Remington swiftly claimed her hand in his own, soothing his thumb over her palm, even as his skin flushed from anger.

"' _What kind of man barters for a green card for himself, but not to keep criminal charges from being pressed against his wife? A man who is only using her. Wake up, Laura._ '" Laura's hand clutched Remington's a little tighter.

"' _A housekeeper from the Wilshire Marquis has sworn out a statement that she walked in on your husband and Shannon knocking boots. He cheated on you not even a week after you were married. You deserve better, Laura.'"_ Her hand went limp under his at the words.

"Enough," Remington insisted quietly, directing a glare at the attorney. Meyerson either didn't hear or simply chose to ignore him, he wasn't sure which, but continued on to the fourth and final note.

"' _Mark my words, the minute he gets that green card, he'll leave you, Laura. You deserve better than a man treating you like little more than a whore.'"_ He felt the tremor in her hand before she yanked it away from his. Folding both her hands primly in her lap, he watched as the walls went up and the shutters closed. She looked at Meyerson with a carefully schooled blank look, while Remington's glare grew darker.

"Pretty powerful words," Meyerson noted. "Strong. Some might say filled with anger, even hate. Not at all the poems or flowery words I was expecting."

"The man's not prone to prose, but to manipulation and falsehoods in order to get what he wants," Remington commented, voice frigid. "Forgive me for appearing impatient, but we were under the assumption that you'd requested our presence here this morning to share, as opposed to… collect, information."

"You'd be correct in that assumption," Meyerson acknowledged, his eyes alighting on Laura again then back on Remington.

"Shall we get on with it then?" Remington asked with edge to his voice.

"Yes, of course." Picking up a piece of paper from the corner of his desk, he extended it to Remington. "In a nutshell, an official letter from MI5 stating any and all work Roselli performed for them was during the course of a temporary assignment last year and all ties with Roselli have since been severed."

"Given he was just working within the bowels of MI5 five short months ago, they seem… eager… to deny that association," Remington observed.

"Yes, I found that of interest myself," Meyerson agreed. "However, putting that aside, I do believe the solution to your problem with Roselli is close at hand." Laura sat up straighter at these words, engaging now in the conversation.

"How is that?" she asked.

"I reached out to one of my contacts at the INS after you departed on Thursday, gave a brief summary of the information you'd shared with me, and suggested it would be in the INS's best interest that he and someone holding a good deal of authority meet with me Friday."

"And?" she pressed.

"After presenting the information you'd shared, viewing the videotape and a not so subtle reminder of the incident in Mexico City in the INS offices there, I was informed Friday afternoon that Roselli is being recalled from his vacation in order to be reassigned to the Frankfurt offices, to work on a project in conjunction with the USCIS to aid potential emigrants with gaining admittance to the United States." Meyerson sat back in his chair, a pleased look on his face.

"He's being transferred," Laura mumbled.

"With the understanding that any further contact with you or Mr. Steele will result in his immediate termination," Meyerson added.

"How long?" Remington demanded to know.

"As I said, he is on leave and they were trying to make contact with him. They fully expect he'll be leaving Los Angeles prior to week's end. I have also secured their assurance that as soon as he has departed I'll be informed, so that we can confirm."

"You'll let us know as soon as you receive word?" he pressed further.

"I will. And, if you don't mind my sharing these notes as well, perhaps we can turn up the heat under the INS a little more." Remington looked to Laura, who agreed with a curt nod. Standing, he offered his hand to Meyerson.

"Thank you, again, for your assistance. The quicker Roselli's gone from our lives, the better." Meyerson clasped his hand in his.

"This should have never have happened in the first place. As I said previously, dealing with the INS is strenuous enough, without a rogue agent hounding you."

Laura stood as well and gave Meyerson a graceful nod of her head. "Thank you, we appreciate all you've done."

"It's been my pleasure, Mrs. Steele. Don't worry. A few more days and those notes and flowers will just become a bad memory." Unknowingly, she shook her head at him.

"I hope you're right," was all she had to offer.

The newlyweds left Meyerson's office and traveled wordlessly to the elevator. The silence prolonged, thickened as the lift traveled downwards. Remington stood, hands in his pockets, regarding Laura, trying to get a read on where her mind was at, but she was locked down tight. When the doors slid open, she half-heartedly skimmed a kiss against his cheek.

"I'm going back to the office. I'll see you at home," she told him distractedly, then moved to walk away and leave him to his own devices. His hand reached out and gently grabbed her arm. She turned to look at him quizzically.

"Laura, we need to talk about it," he implored quietly. She gave him a detached smile.

"There's no need," she told him calmly. "As you said, manipulations and falsehoods… Roselli's specialties." His heart stumbled seeing the dull look in her eyes, feeling like they'd suddenly catapulted back to those days immediately after she'd found him trying to wed Clarissa.

"Laura-" he beseeched quietly, only to be cut off.

"I'm fine," she told him, her voice rising with the falsehood. Quashing her ever rising anxiety, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We're fine," she assured him. "I just want to go check in on Mildred. She shouldn't be back so soon. She should have most of the names checked out by the time I get back. I'll be home soon. We can go over what she finds then." Seeing the strain on his face, and hating that she had nothing to offer to alleviate it, she held out the only olive branch she could think of. "I'd like to go for a run later. Maybe you'll join me? A rematch?"

He could only nod at her then watch as she walked away.


	26. Chapter 24: Quite a Pair

Chapter 24: Quite a Pair

Remington spent the rest of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon in absolute misery, alternating between trying to figure out something, anything, to make this latest round of harm better to wanting to find Roselli and beat the man until his knuckles bled, sharing with him just a bit of the pain he'd caused Laura. The man had systematically picked at every scab, turning the wounds fresh; had enflamed all the insecurities and self-doubts that he'd been watching slowly disappear in months past. Had taken a hard enough blow a her that she'd shoved up those bloody walls it had taken years to tear down.

He'd moved frenetically from task-to-task in the hours since he'd been home. Dry cleaning gathered and picked up, he'd sat out on the terrace, cup of tea nearby, sketchbook in hand, then had given that up when sometime later he recognized he'd been unable to draw a single line that was not dark and broad as he transferred his frustrations from heart to paper. He'd lounged carelessly on the couch, flipping aimlessly through the channels, finding nothing of interest, then had slipped _The Big Sleep_ (Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Warner Bros., 1946) into the VCR as it had seemed somehow apropos in the wake of their current crisis where a pseudo love triangle, blackmail, and general chaos abounded. An hour into the movie and a string of uttered curses later, he'd turned off the television and moved into the kitchen where he'd prepared a pesto chicken arugula sandwich and accompanying vegetable and potato soup. Placing the salads in the refrigerator to remained chilled and turning down the heat to keep the soup warmed, he returned to terrace. Stretching out his long frame in the lounge, he rested his chin upon knuckled fist and settled in to ruminate on how to mend what had been seemingly broken.

A half of an hour later the door to the flat quietly swung open and Laura entered, dropping her purse and the file holding Mildred's research on the entryway table. She'd spent the better part of two hours at the office trying to understand why she'd reacted the way she had to Roselli's notes. Rationally, she understood they were meant to tear a fissure in her trust in her husband; that they were, for the most part, lies made up of whole cloth. Still, they stung as they were meant to. Not for a moment did she believe Remington had slept with Shannon. The desperation in his eyes, on his face, that she believe him, when he'd made it clear on the plane to London that nothing had happened, had been genuine. Further, she knew, without a doubt, that Remington had not simply tried to save himself, in bowing to Roselli's blackmail, but had had both of them in mind. It would simply go against his nature to do otherwise.

The remaining notes, however, had struck at the core of both her own perceived inadequacies and her fear of abandonment. That it had been these two very things that had made her into the 'weak link' Keyes had pointed a finger to, stung. Her hurt, her fear, had dulled her instincts, had made her ripe for Roselli's picking. She'd never questioned his rather miraculous appearance, just in time to 'save' her from the Malvados. She wasn't perplexed by why Roselli was so openly coveting a newly married woman. She hadn't even diligently pursued her initial curiosity at his sudden arrival in LA, later London.

Now, he was using her insecurities to get under her skin, to throw her off, again. She wasn't sure what made her more angry: that he'd managed, if only briefly, to get her to distance herself from Remington; that he'd somehow realized two of her greatest fears were not being enough or being left; or that he'd so easily wounded her. She had apologies to make to Remington but first she needed to shove aside her reactions to Roselli's notes and figure out what was niggling at her brain.

A quiet search of the apartment led her to the terrace, where she found him reclined in the lounge, head in hand, lost to his own thoughts. She walked over to lean her bottom against the wall, facing him. Bracing her hands against the wall, she waited.

"Hi," she said quietly when he at last looked directly at her. He simply regarded her with somber and distant blue eyes. Lifting her hands towards him, she drew them back to her side and dropped them. "I'm sorry," she offered resignedly. Remington stretched himself out of the lounge, then paced the length of the terrace, before turning his attention back to her and speaking.

"Tell me something, Laura?" he pondered, his voice far too smooth for her liking.

"Alright."

"Why is it that when something disturbs me, you hound me, telling me we have to talk, to communicate. Yet, when those tables are turned, when you draw into yourself and take flight, it's perfectly acceptable, eh?"

"I don't…" she began feebly. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't you?" he interrupted. "You've done so twice in as many days. Yesterday morning on the island, now again today." She frowned at him.

"Maybe if you'd let me finish," she groused. She let out a puff of air, forcing herself to modulate her voice. "I don't _mean to_." He swiped a hand through his hair, then leaned his backside against the wall near the terrace doors. Turning his head, he leveled blue eyes filled with disillusionment on her. She winced, before the words were even spoken.

"I've done a bit of thinking of my own this morning, while left to my own devices," he said, emphasizing the last words. She resisted the urge to reach for her brow, crossing her arms instead.

"About?" she inquired with care. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and pressed a foot against the wall behind him before answering.

"I'd actually begun to believe that you'd finally let down those walls of yours, permanently. Had given yourself over to us, this marriage." He pushed himself off the wall again, began to pace. "But you haven't, have you?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "You're still waiting for that other shoe to fall. For me to change _my_ mind, to walk away. So not to be bested, you keep one foot out the door, prepared to be the first to flee."

"That's not true," she protested.

"Can you honestly stand there and tell me, that even if only for an instant, a part of you didn't wonder this morning if what Roselli said was true? That the moment I get my green card, I'll slip out of your life?" She bit her lip, and he was left shaking his head at the guilt that flashed across her face for a split second. A hand rubbed at his face before he buried both hands in his pockets again.

"Please believe me when I tell you that it was my head speaking, not my heart. That where it truly matters, I know that's not going to happen."

"Ahhh, but it's that lovely mind of yours that has convinced you to take flight, time and again," he pointed out. "So where's the comfort to be found in that?" She rubbed her arms while tilting her head.

"Maybe there's not," she admitted pensively. She moved to him, rubbing her hands up and down his sides when she neared. Tilting her head up to look at him, she continued, "But I'm here. I came home _to you_ , to apologize, to try to explain. Even to try to understand, myself, why I reacted like I did." His hands remained in his pockets, but she found some relief when he leaned his head down to look at her.

"No answers yet, then?"

"A couple, but not all. Can we sit?" she asked, indicating the lounge with a tug of her head. At his hum of agreement, they moved to the lounge and settled themselves in. She lifted her hand in his, toying with his wedding band before beginning.

"I think it's important for you to know that this has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. I don't believe you went to bed with Shannon _or_ that you'll leave once this mess with Immigration is cleared up, once and for all."

"If not, why shut me out as you did?" She mulled this for a long moment while tracing the length of his fingers with hers.

"Bad memories, lingering insecurities, it seems, brought back to life, however briefly." She let out a frustrated breath, then, surprisingly, laughed softly. "I'm not the only one that suffers from the phenomenon." He frowned behind her.

"How so?" She reached a hand back to touch fingertips to a cheek, let them linger briefly, before dropping her hand again.

"You do it, too. Just yesterday on the dock you asked if I wanted out," she pointed out. He grunted.

"History can be a cruel teacher," he acknowledged, head nodding thoughtfully.

"It can. History has taught me that men leave. It doesn't mean I believe you'll leave, at least not any longer. But that fear of being left will always be a part of me, no matter how small, no matter how deeply buried. Just as your own fear of no one wanting to hold onto you will always be a part of you. But make no mistake about it, Mr. Steele: I am holding on to you." She shrugged, her voice turning lightly teasing. "At least for the next few decades. We'll see after that." He chuckled against her back, while his lips bussed the side of her head.

"A lengthy expiration date, then."

"Hmmmm," she agreed.

"So, then, Mrs. Steele, what is it you've yet to figure out?" Letting go of his hand, she shifted around to face him, tucking her legs up underneath of her. She looked at him earnestly.

"Roselli. How does he know the things he does? How did he know our trip this weekend was to a private island? How does he know the perfect place to strike, to try to draw a line between the two of us? How has he known when I'm alone, when you were with Astrid? How is that we've never, _not once_ sensed him following us?" Remington rubbed at his mouth with his hand, then holding it up helplessly let it drop.

"I've no idea," he admitted.

"If I'm right, you're not going to like it," she warned. He raised a single, curious brow at her. "I think it's time to check the apartment and office for bugs, and all the vehicles for transmitters." She watched as first disbelief crossed his face, then shock and eventually fury. She mentally shook her head. Now she could only sit back and watch him blow.

Remington launched himself off of the chaise, furiously pacing as a he yanked a hand through the back of his hair. "You think he's been listening to us. To all of it. Everything we've said. Every private moment." He froze as a thought crossed his mind. "As we've made love. Bloody hell, Laura, I swear to you, if I ever get my hands on the man…" Standing, she walked to him, placing her hand on his chest.

"I don't like the idea any more than you, but we won't know if my suspicions are correct until we look around," she reminded him. "Why don't you start with the kitchen and dining room, while I begin with the bathroom and bedroom. We'll do the living room together. And don't forget to check the phones."

With an irritated shake of his head, he followed her inside. An hour later, kitchen, dining room, bathroom and bedroom thoroughly searched, her suspicions were confirmed. Remington had found two: one concealed under the hood to the stove in the kitchen and in the dining room, one on the underside of the top shelf of the bar. Laura's search had found the bathroom clean, but she'd visibly cringed when she found a bug adhered to the back of the headboard of their bed. Listening devices were further found in the handsets of the phones in kitchen and bedroom. They searched the living room together in stealthy silence and, as expected by this point, discovered a bug underneath the sofa table and yet another device in the phone there.

Search complete, Remington silently wagged his finger at his wife. In the kitchen he filled a glass partway with water, then dropped each offending electronics into it one at a time.

"How long do you think…" he let his words trail off.

"I don't know. Since Thursday at least." She patted him on the upper arm, trying to convey a calm that she didn't feel. "Let me get changed and we'll go down and check the cars, huh?"

Glancing down at his own clothes, he trailed behind her. Twenty minutes later, both changed into t-shirts and jeans, they were in the garage at the Rossmore. The Auburn propped up on a jack, they shimmied around on the ground searching the undercarriage. Despite the bleak nature of their search, Laura laughed in amusement, drawing Remington's gaze. She tossed a grin at him.

"This reminds me of the that first week when we found the Auburn." He grinned back at her.

"The night you left me on my own to put it back together, you mean," he reminded her. She laughed again.

"I'm amazed it even ran with all the parts that were leftover," she laughed. "Clearly mechanic is not one of your numerous skills." He lifted a brow at her as his lips quivered against repressed laughter.

"Laura, we removed the doors, the hood and the splash guard, if you recall. Where, exactly, did you imagine all those parts came from?" Her face blanked for a second in confusion, then laughter danced in her eyes.

"Are you telling me those parts _didn't_ come from the car?" He flashed his pearly whites at her.

"Not at all."

"Always looking to put one over on me, aren't you?" she asked laughingly.

"Being able to get something past that nimble mind of yours? It's the very spice of life, Miss Holt." Leaning over, he pressed his lips against hers several times.

She gave a sudden start, forcing him to lean up and look down at her.

"I think I found something," she told him, trying to grasp an object on the inside of the bumper. She shifted, grunting slightly, before giving a grin of satisfaction. Retracting her arm, she pulled a small box from its hiding spot. He regarded the object thoughtfully.

"Shadows of _Footsteps in the Fog (_ Stewart Granger, Jean Simmons, Shepperton Studios, 1955), once more?" he mulled, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She watched him avidly.

"What do you have in mind?" Taking the box from her, he held it up.

"We use his unwanted pests against him," he grinned openly now. "We leave the bugs he surely has planted at the Agency in place for now, allow him to believe he's about to catch me in a truly compromising position. His little friend, here," he holds up the transmitter, "delivers him straight into our waiting hands, where INS's need to speak with him is imparted." Her dimples flashed at the plan.

"And before we know it, he's on his way out of the country." He lifted a brow at her, pleased with both the idea and her easy agreement.

"Precisely." She laughed deep in her throat.

"Mr. Steele, I do like how that mind of yours works." A pair of dimples of his own flashed at her this time.

"Yes, well, next point of business is to remove the hitchhiker we'll surely find on the Rabbit. Don't you agree?" Sliding out from beneath the Auburn, he waited for her to do likewise then offered her a hand up. Stealing a brief kiss from her lips, he knelt to free the jack from under the Auburn.

Thirty minutes later, both transmitters placed back on the vehicles in a place where they could easily be removed, the couple returned to the apartment to change again, shedding their jeans in favor of shorts and athletic pants more fitting a run. Deciding to forgo lunch until their return, they set out towards Hancock Park.

Three miles into their run, Laura glanced over her shoulder at Remington, who was steadily keeping pace with her although a step or two behind, but with none of the smug enjoyment of the Thursday prior.

"What's the matter, Mr. Steele? Finding it difficult to keep up without the incentive of a wager dangled before you?" she taunted. He gave her a roguish grin.

"Not at all, Mrs. Steele. Simply enjoying the view before me," he answered, waiting until she looked back at him again in curiosity before sweeping his eyes down the length of her backside.

"Watching my flank, so to speak?"

"Wedding vows, you know. To love, honor…"

"And keep an eye on the marital assets?"

"It's a sacrifice at times, I tell you…" That drew an amused laugh from her.

"But such a noble pursuit."

"Well, you know me-" His words broke off at the squeal of tires. Turning his head, he saw a sedan half-on and half-off the sidewalk, barreling down on them. "Watch out!" he yelled in warning. Picking up his pace, he grabbed her by the waist, shoving her into the shrubbery as he dove in behind her. Laura let out a small yelp as the ankle she'd twisted four days before, once more twisted beneath her. As he pushed himself to his feet, to try to lay his sight on the vehicle he called to her, "Okay?"

"Okay. Don't lose them!" Grasping her ankle she rocked her body as she watched him push through the shrubbery back out on the street. "Anything?" she called.

"Damn! No, they're well gone. Must have taken the corner just ahead," he replied as his voice grew near. Finding her amongst the shrubs, he lifted her foot in his hand. "Let's see what we have here, eh?"

"Nothing to worry about, Mr. Steele," she assured him as he slipped off her tennis shoe, "Just caught me by surprise. I'm sure I'll be fi-" her words cut off with a yelp as his fingers probed near her heel.

"You've a bit of swelling already, love. I'm afraid your running has come to an end for the day," he told her, standing then bending over to sweep her up in his arms.

"I'm sure I can walk perfectly well on my own," she insisted, torn between amusement and irritation.

"Mmmmm. Yes, I'm quite sure you could. But those pesky vows of ours, don't you know," he quipped, as he searched the road for a taxi.

"Mr. Steele, doesn't it seem more than coincidental that a car ran Mildred down Wednesday night, now one has attempted to do the same to us?"

"Given the damage on the front passenger side of the car that just attempted to assault us, I'd say not," he acknowledged, admiring once more that nimble mind of hers.

"Were you able to get a description of it?" He shook his head as he continued to scan the road.

"Older model sedan, Chevrolet, I believe, tan. Not so much as a glance at the plate."

Shaking her head, she jumped a little when he let out a loud whistle. Seconds later, a taxi pulled up next to them.

"Need a lift?" the cabbie asked. Remington opened the backdoor and eased Laura inside.

"Yes, yes, nearest emergency ward if you don't mind," he directed, as he slid in next to her and closed the door.

"That's hardly necessary," she insisted, vehemently.

"I dare to disagree. I seem to recall something about in sick-" She glared at him, crossing her arms before he could even finish.

"I know, I know… Those pesky vows," she groused. "Fair warning, Mr. Steele. If you're going to insist on my seeing a doctor, the next time it's you sitting on this side of our vows, you'd be wise to keep in mind this moment."

"Glad to see you're so agreeable about the matter, Mrs. Steele," he answered smoothly, pretending to be blissfully unaware she was anything but, while taking a hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. His lips twitched when she yanked her hand back and turned to stare out the window, petulantly.

He could only sit and shake his head, knowing she'd be in quite the temper by the time they navigated the chaos of an emergency ward.

* * *

Three and a half hours later, the door to the flat swung open and Laura tromped in, muttering under her breath, as she'd been doing for the better part of two and a half hours at that point, when, that is, she was not turning that temper on her hapless husband. The boot on her left foot left her natural grace flailing in the wind. Flopping down on the couch, she crossed her arms, and staring straight ahead, continued her disgruntled mumbling.

Said husband closed the door to the flat behind him, rubbing his neck. He'd found her petulance all the way to the hospital amusing; the next hour of her sulk, endearing; and the first hour and a half of her temper entertaining. After the last hour, however, he was simply weary… and feeling no little bit of guilt for his part in her troubles. Dropping his keys on the entryway table, he made his way to the kitchen, hoping against hope that waters would calm as they ate.

He moved the pan of soup from refrigerator to stovetop, setting the flame on low underneath of it. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly while scrubbing at his face. In a way, he considered her foul mood his penance. After all, had he not shoved her into the bushes, she'd likely be on her two feet at the moment. He'd acted on pure instinct, trying to keep her from harm, and in doing so, he'd harmed her himself. Not an easy thing to admit, or accept, but there it was.

"Probable," she called out peevishly from the other room. "A _probable_ sprain of the Achilles tendon. If the doctor has no idea, why am I in this contraption?"

"If you recall, given your concerns about being ready in time for the Marathon, he wanted to play it on the cautious side," he called back. "It's only for two weeks, then you can resume training once more."

"Do you have any idea how much ground I'll lose in two weeks? I've barely run in the last week. I'll never be ready in time," she lamented. The guilt he'd been nurturing, dug its claws into his gut a little more firmly.

"Laura, you prepared for the triathlon in little more than two weeks," he reminded her, not for the first time on the afternoon. _And if I have to get out and run with you every bloody afternoon, we'll make damned sure you're ready,_ he vowed to himself.

He sighed as she fell silent again. Removing their sandwiches from the refrigerator, he set them on the dining room table, before pouring them each a glass of cool water and delivering those to the table as well. He hazarded a glance at her, and found her eyes tossing darts at him with deadly accuracy. He studiously averted his gaze returning to the kitchen to dish out their soup into bowls. Once he'd set bowls on the table, he steeled himself, then, pasting a smile on his face, crossed the room to her.

"If you dare try to carry me, I'll clobber you," she fairly growled at him. Her blow struck home, and automatically, he shut himself away.

"I'd not presume to do any such thing, Miss Holt," that snooty British accent he hid behind when most upset clipped. Turning on his heel, he strode swiftly to the dining room table and seated himself. Snapping open his napkin and laying it carelessly across his lap, he began his meal without her.

Laura leaned her head back and scrunched her eyes closed as she watched him walk away."Damn", she mumbled under her breath. She hadn't meant to hurt him. He'd done his best to remain patient with her throughout the afternoon, but even he had his limits, and she'd just crossed that line. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she admitted that she'd been… difficult… most of the afternoon. _Alright, down right surly,_ she grudgingly amended in her mind, _and after what had already been a minefield laden morning._

Pushing herself to her feet, she made her way with some difficulty, and more pain than she would ever confess, to join him at the table. In direct contrast to him, she quietly unfolded her napkin and lay it carefully upon her lap. Picking up her spoon, she sampled the soup before her. Closing her eyes, as always, she savored the tantalizing spices that somehow blended perfectly.

"This is wonderful," she complimented. He nodded his head briefly to her in thanks, but continued to eat his meal in silence.

Setting her spoon down, she stared at her hands. She would never have believed it months ago if someone had asked, but of the two of them, he had settled quickly and easily into this marriage of theirs. It was she that was still prone to stumbling, resorting to old habits. Over the years, she'd become accustomed to taking out her moods on him, not only because he'd allow it or that he often found those moods amusing even, but because she knew he'd withstand just about anything she threw his way and still keep near.

Since those days at Ashford Castle, when they'd at last relinquished their hearts to one another, in many ways he'd become even more patient with her. Perhaps because in admitting her feelings for him, the need for him to be a permanent part of her life, he felt more secure than in years past. There were times she forgot, however, that in his admitting his own feelings, in admitting his own deep seeded need, in many ways he'd become more vulnerable than ever before. He'd always been inclined towards protecting her, to trying to give her comfort in the few ways that she'd allow. Since those days, those inclinations had become even stronger. As the person he held as most important in his life – the person to whom he _himself_ truly mattered – his need to care for her… not coddle, but care for… had only grown.

Her rejection of such an attempt, only minutes before, she knew, had been embraced by his heart as a rejection of himself, his feelings for her, his place in her life. She was learning these new nuances of their relationship, but, like many times in the past, had to stumble before she knew there was something to be learned.

So, for the second time on the day, she accepted that an apology was in order. Funny, it seemed the first three or so years that they worked together, danced around one another, it was he who had become proficient at apologies. Since those days at Ashford, it was she that was becoming somewhat of an expert. She hoped fervently that those apologies would balance out somewhere in the near future, or, better yet, not need to be made at all.

Picking up her napkin, she dropped it on the table, then made her way awkwardly around the table. Leaning her backside against the table, she rubbed a hand along the length of his arm until blue eyes met brown. Only then did she slip into his lap. Her fingers found either side of his jaw and stroked there, trying to draw him out.

"I'm sorry. You've done everything possible to make this more comfortable for me, have listened to me rant and rave most of the afternoon, and have been extraordinarily patient throughout. I know you were only trying to help. I shouldn't have said what I did." He looked at her, shocked.

"You're apologizing to me? Seems to me you've every right to be angry with me. Had I not shoved you as I did, you'd likely be out running as we speak." His fingers found the silken hair of her ponytail, while blue eyes filled with apology met stunned brown ones.

"You think _I'm_ angry with _you_? Angry that we were ambushed, yes. Angry about my ankle, yes. But I was never angry with you." Letting go of a breath and some of his tension, he cupped the back of her neck and drew her head down until their foreheads touched.

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" Her hand left his jaw to thread through his hair.

"We do have our days," she laughed lightly. Sitting back up, she tilted her head at him. "But I think overall we're doing pretty well at this marriage thing, Mr. Steele, don't you?" His smile was only outshone by hers.

"Aye, I do at that, Mrs. Steele." Stroking the back of her neck, he nudged her head back down. "Come here," he murmured. She gladly met his lips with hers, humming as his lips pressed against then glided over hers. Her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, before she pulled away. Standing, she leaned down and touched his lips with hers one last time, before she returned to her seat.

"Any ideas on how you're going to convince Roselli that the time is ripe for him to catch you in that compromising position?"

"Actually, I do. I thought I'd enlist Jocelyn's assistance. A call from the office phone, planning an elicit rendezvous should draw his attention, I'd think." She forlornly considered her booted foot.

"You're going to need backup. I'm not going to be much help in a footrace." Had it not been for the fact she was injured, he would have thanked God for small favors. He'd never intended her to back him up at all.

"Monroe and his lads will suffice," he consoles. "Now, what plans do you have in mind for us this evening?" Taking a bite of her sandwich, she thought over the options as she chewed.

"We need to go over the information Mildred dug up on our other suspects." She looked up at him through her lashes, a mischievous smile twitching at her lips. "Then, maybe we start that _Fugitive_ marathon you owe me." She laughed at his pained look. "Who knows, you may like it? An innocent man, on the run, trying to prove he was framed."

"I seem to recall living that plot line - a few times in recent years, as a matter of fact. I don't know that I feel the need to watch it," he grumbled. Looking at him slyly, she pulled an old trick out of her bag.

"But we both know Remington Steele's word is his bond," she smirked. He looked at her, semi-appalled.

" _That_ , love, is an unfair tactic," he groused around a smile.

"Yet one of the few fail safe tactics I have with you," she noted.

"Oh? Then you're saying there are others at your disposal?" She tossed him a sultry little look.

"We both know there are," she teased. His hand reached for hers. Turning it over, a finger traced patterns in her palm.

"Perhaps, those… tactics… would prove to make this evening more palatable," he suggested. She smirked at him.

"I don't see why I'd need to employ them. I think we've already agreed that your word-"

"Is my bond," he sighed. "Very well. Work, then what some might dubiously describe as pleasure, after." He scowled at her when she giggled with mirth at his forlorn words. "Really, Laura, it's not one of your more pleasant attributes the way you revel in your husband's obvious pain," he sulked.

"You could at least _feign_ some excitement, Mr. Steele. After all, I've spent years doing just that as we've watched those tedious movies of yours, night after night, year after year…" She'd thrown the gauntlet and his eyes lit with merriment at the challenge.

" _Tedious?_ I'll have you know, Mrs. Steele, that those _tedious_ movies to which you refer, are classics," he pointed a finger towards her, "Not to mention they've aided us solving case after case over the years. Why…"

The remainder of lunch found them bantering about the merits and pitfalls of the various mediums of entertainment they preferred.

* * *

"Nothing," Laura growled, tossing down the stack of papers in her hand onto the coffee table in frustration. "We've gone over every prior suspect, every person we helped to convict. How is it possible that they're all accounted for?"

"I don't know," Remington admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know. We must be missing something."

"But _what_?"

"I've no idea. Someone on the fringes, maybe, that we've investigated, but dismissed? Someone close to one of those we've put behind bars?"

"There's absolutely no way for us to identify everyone fitting those descriptions, let alone check their current statuses." She shook her head in disappointment.

"Then it seems we've little choice but to wait until they make their next attempt," he commented with a shrug. "And in the meantime, since there's nothing that can be done about it tonight, might I suggest we get on with this marathon you're so determined to subject me to?"

Rising from the chair in which he'd been sitting, he retrieved a glass of chilled Chablis for each of them from the kitchen and returned to the living room. Laura had just slipped the tape into the VCR and moved to sit next to him on the couch.

"Thank you," she smiled, taking the glass of wine with him.

"My pleasure." He returned the smile, then steeled himself for the drivel that was to come forth from his widescreen television. To his credit, he managed to make it through the first and second episodes while keeping true to the wager, uttering not a single word of criticism. Halfway through the third, he excused himself for a shower. By the time he'd returned for a change in tapes, it was nearly ten o'clock. His lovely wife was curled up into a corner of the sofa yawning. When the credits finished rolling, he brushed his lips across her cheek.

"Go get dressed for bed, love. I'll switch over the tapes." She flashed him a look of sleepy gratitude.

After slipping into the pajama top that matched his bottoms, she pulled a blanket and pillow from their closet, then returned to the living room. Seeing the bedding in her hands, he stretched out on his side across the length of the couch, then waited until she settled in next to him. Resting his chin against her shoulder, he slid a hand over her waist. Claiming it, she wrapped her fingers around it, and tucked their joined hands up against her body.

Three quarters of the way through the episode, he grudgingly admitted to himself that this particular favored television series of hers was not all that bad. _Not in the least like that atrocity of Atomic Man,_ he thought laughingly to himself. _The Fugitive_ , on the other hand, held enough mystery, action and unanswered questions to hold the audience's attention. Quite reluctantly, he wondered if Kimble ever managed to clear his name and whether all the people's whose assistance to which he'd come, had the character to stand and speak well of the man at the end of the day. He glanced down at Laura, considering posing the question, but then recognized such an action would lead her to insisting the make this little marathon a nightly event.

He wondered if that would be such an awful thing, after all.

He resigned himself to ask the question when he realized Laura was not watching the screen at all. He settled back to watch and decipher her. The task was without difficulty, as admiring the petite woman snuggled against his body was, hands down, his most favorite pastime.

Somewhere around ten minutes into the episode, Laura had begun to fall into that place between wakefulness and sleep, where the mind wanders, remembers, seeks understanding, absorbs the events of the day. Her meanderings stopped at a comment he'd made during their late lunch.

" _ **We're quite the pair, aren't we?"**_

Not for the first time, she admitted they had been from that first day they'd met – though not in the way he'd meant when he spoke the words. An instinct had recognized in each other the part of them that was missing, the part that would make them each whole. He lived off of gut feelings, she off of careful analysis of facts. She grounded him, while he allowed her to fly. She lived in a tightly controlled world of her own creation forged in the past, he lived in a world firmly rooted in the present with few rules other than his innate honor. She helped him become the man he was always meant to be, had somewhere inside always wished to be, while he showed her how to leave the past behind and embrace all of herself without apology. When she backed away, he held tight; when he floundered and self-sabotaged, she forgave. When either was plagued with self-doubt, they built the other up, restoring their faith in themselves.

She shifted her hand holding his, so that she could see both of their rings at the same time, tracing them with the fingers of her right hand.

He'd told her in Ireland that she was his home. Closing her eyes and pressing their joined hands against her lips, she finally admitted to herself that he was her home as well and had been for a long time. It was this that had sent her to London after him more than a year before. She was incomplete without him near. He was warmth, joy, safety and love all wrapped into one. How was it he had put it in Ireland?

" _ **You're the home I always wanted and never believed I'd find. It's to you I want to return day-after-day, night-after-night."**_

She nodded her head, unknowingly at the thought. Only when she felt his cheek nuzzle against the side of her head did she realize he'd been watching her, though she had no idea for how long. A flush spread across her skin at the thought. Regardless of her slight embarrassment, she maneuvered herself onto her back to look up at him. Releasing his hand, her hand threaded through his hair, urging his head ever downwards. She lost herself in his kiss, savoring his taste, the texture of his lips, the sensation of his tongue sweeping against hers.

They necked like teenagers in the back of a car, though both were far more knowledgeable than any teen. They knew exactly how the other like to be kissed, to be touched and the ties that bound them, that only grew stronger with each passing day, only enhanced the experience. They were both breathless when they finally drew apart. His lips wandered from cheek to eye to forehead, then back down the other side.

"What were you thinking about, love?" he asked, pausing in his ministrations, long enough to ask. His lips found hers to gently caress again. Her hands found his jaw when their lips parted, caressing there, until his blue eyes found and locked on her brown ones.

"You're my home too, Remington." Keeping her eyes on his, she touched her lips to his. He froze, lips unmoving as he continued to stare at her, stunned. She smiled against his lips at his reaction and when he did move, it was to flip her over to lay on top of him. Hand cupping her cheeks, he shook his head, clearly overwhelmed.

"Keep sayin' things like that, ye'll never get rid o' me, Mrs. Steele," his Irish brogue thick, even as he tried to lighten the moment. She simply flashed her dimples at him.

"That's the plan, Mr. Steele," she answered lightly, then leaned down to taste his lips and lose herself in him once more.

(TBC)


	27. Chapter 25: Tyranny Subdued

Chapter 25: Tyranny Subdued

Tuesday, October 7th, 1986

Sometime in the predawn hours, where silence lingered so thick that only the gentle breeze of the air conditioning could be heard, the elegant fingers of a lean hand deftly released buttons of a pajama top, before ghosting across the gentle curve of an alabaster waist. Soft kisses and gentle nips lovingly traced the long column of a neck as nimble fingers moved to divest two bodies of their remaining clothing. The woman next to him stirred awake under the caress of loving hands, and the soft curves of a body pressed against the firm muscle of another as her fingers tangled with his. When he slowly slipped inside her welcoming body, she pressed ever closer. Soft sighs filled the room as the man whispered against the woman's ear in the lyrical language of his childhood.

"Tá tú mo bhaile…"

"Mo shaol…"

"Mo ghrá…"

"Tá tú ar fud an domhain dom…"

"Ní bheidh mé in iúl riamh a théann tú."

The words ignited her passion for the man speaking them even further and trying to press even closer to him, she wrapped a leg back over his hip as a hand reached behind her to tangle in his hair. She whispered words of gentle reassurance, words that soothed a heart desperate to make her understand all that she was to him.

In the moments after two bodies shuddered as one, she rolled to her back, drawing him to her. A face burrowed in a neck scented with honeysuckle, grass and sunshine. He breathed deeply the scent, before his tongue dared to sample its sweet tang. Loving fingers toyed with silken tresses, damp from their lovemaking as a small hand swept the sweat from his brow before reaching around him to trail over his bare back. He slipped into dreams filled with the woman holding him.

* * *

Laura and Remington arrived at the agency shortly before eleven. With their schedules still cleared for their aborted trip to their villa on the Cote de Azur, there seemed little point in rushing. They'd taken their time in waking, then had gotten ready for the day together. They paid a surprise visit on Monroe at the LA branch of the stores jointly owned by he and Remington and filled him in on the unwanted visitors found in their home and car, as well as Roselli's ongoing pursuit. A brief phone call by Monroe to Jocelyn secured her participation in the ruse that would be carried out shortly before noon.

Under the guise of having forgotten to obtain the quarterly earnings report from Monroe, Remington returned briefly to the other man's office, where part of the plan Laura was to never know about was quickly discussed. Before leaving, less than two minutes later, Remington had reports in hand, as well as Monroe's assurance that Laura would be watched over by at least two of his men until, hopefully, their quarry was captured.

It was mutually decided between Remington and Laura, that Mildred would not be informed of the bugs in their office until after the listening devices were no longer of use to them.

At eleven-fifteen, Laura slipped out of Remington's office to call Frances from her office next door. They'd decided over tea that morning that should Roselli wish to verify Laura was blissfully unaware of her husband's antics, they'd make it a point that she was elsewise engaged, but completely able to be heard, when his call was made.

Picking up his phone, Remington dialed Monroe's apartment, then swung his chair around to look out the window. Propping up his feet on the ledge, he cleared his throat while waiting for Jocelyn to pick up on the other end.

"Hello?" her sultry voice greeted from the other end of the line.

"Jocelyn, darling, it's Remington," he greeted as planned.

"I thought you agreed our time with one another had come to an end," she answered, voice turned cool on the other end of the line. "Has the bloom worn off the rose so soon, then?"

"Not in the least. My wife and I are still the picture of the blissful newlyweds," he disagreed.

"Why are you calling me, then?" she queried.

"While monogamy held a certain novel charm, I'll admit, I've come to realize it is both unrealistic and terribly tedious."

"Is your wife aware of this epiphany?" she toyed with him, actually enjoying the little game.

"Heavens no. She'd divorce me on the spot. She is hopelessly provincial in this regard, I'm afraid."

"So what's on your mind, Remington?" she asked, cutting to the chase.

"A certain stunning young woman, with a thoroughly rapturous body, who knows no boundaries when it comes to bringing pleasure to one another."

"She's my friend, Remington," Jocelyn pointed out, feigning uncertainty.

"As is Monroe, mine. But as before, what they don't know will cause them no harm," he pretended to soothe. "It so happens, I know both Monroe and Laura will be wrapped up in quarterly returns all afternoon. The time is ours to do with as we please." She sighed deeply on the other side of the line.

"I really shouldn't, _we_ really shouldn't."

"I sense a 'but', darling." She sighed again.

"Where and when?"

"The loft is conveniently vacant at the moment. It will afford us all the privacy… and conveniences… we'll need." He counted to three, pretending to check his watch and ponder the time. "What say we rendezvous there in half an hour. That will give us… hours… to satiate our needs."

"We really shouldn't, but I miss you too. Noon at the loft then. I'll see you there."

"Wonderful, darling. I'm looking forward to it." Hanging up the phone, he grinned to himself. If Roselli was listening, he had no doubt the man would be convinced he was about to toss his wedding vows to the wind. Dropping his feet from the ledge and spinning in his chair to face his desk, he prepared to go into Laura's office and carry out the next part of the farce. He froze when he found himself looking at Mildred.

"Oh, Boss, how could you?" she asked, her disappointment in him etched all over her face. He scrubbed at his face with his hand, unsure how to handle this unwelcome surprise.

"Mildred, it's not what you think –" he began, only to be cut off.

"Don't tell me it's not what I think. I heard plenty. Mrs. Steele loves you, she trusts you. How can you do this to her?" Her eyes widened at a thought. "And in her loft? Oh, Boss…"

"Mildred, I assure you, you didn't hear what you think you-"

"Oh, I heard more than enough, Chief. To think that I went to bat for you all these years, assuring Miss Holt that you cared about her!" Puffing up her chest, she gave him the evil eye. "I won't be responsible for hurting Miss Holt by being the one to tell her what you're up to. But I won't stand around and watch it either. You're not who I thought you were, Mr. Steele." Turning herself on her crutches, she left his office, stopping at her desk only long enough to grab her purse from her desk before leaving.

He watched her leave in dismay. The woman's opinion meant the world to him, and to have her thinking, even for hopefully only a few hours, that he would betray his wife? The very thought made him queasy. Shaking his head, he reentered his office, only to go through the adjoining door into that same wife's. She looked up at him, relief painted on her face.

"Frances, as much as I'd love to continue discussing the proper planting of bulbs in the fall for proper spring blooming, Remington's just come into my office and it looks like he has something important on his mind. Yes… we had a wonderful time Sunday night. I already told you that… Frances… Frances… I really have to go. Yes, I'll call you tonight… No, I'm not just saying that. I really will…. Frances… _Frances_." Lifting her hand, she began to knead her brow. "I'm sorry, Frances. I didn't mean to yell at you… It's just that Reming-… Frances, _I really am sorry_ … I promise, I'll call you tomorrow… No, no, of course I meant tonight… _I promise_... Goodbye." Setting down the receiver, she let out a long sigh. Looking up at him, she grinned when he pressed finger to nose.

"You look like you have something on your mind, Mr. Steele," she greeted, according to script.

"I'm afraid I've just received word that Veronica has taken a bit of a nasty fall. Maxie is beside herself with worry. I'm going to go round the hospital to give her a little support."

"I'll come with you," she offered.

"No, no. That's not necessary." He turned on the charm. "Besides, Mrs. Steele, I've a little surprise in mind for you this evening and will require a little time to get things put into place." He leaned down and kissed her until she hummed. When their lips parted, he gave her a smug little look. She pursed her lips, knowing that kiss was far more for his enjoyment than for show.

"Alright," she feigned reluctance, as he hastily scribbled out a note and handed it to her. "But promise to call me if you need help with Maxie and Veronica."

 _Mildred walked in on my call with Jocelyn,_ the note read. Laura looked at him with a mix of amusement and dismay.

"There's not another that I'd call, Mrs. Steele," he pretended to assure her, as she wrote out a response.

 _We'll let her know the truth as soon as we can._ He nodded his agreement.

"See you at home tonight," she told him, giving him a kiss.

He turned and left her office, prepared to put an end to Roselli's stalking of his wife, once and for all.

* * *

A block away, in an unobtrusive older van, marked with signs designating the vehicle as a mobile dog grooming business, Roselli sat back in his seat and smiled.

"You're mine now, Steele."

Dropping the headphones on the narrow, makeshift desk in front of him, he turned to pick up a reel of tape. Like the flat and the Agency, several listening devices had been planted across Laura's loft. The tape would hold a couple hours worth of recordings. Coupling the recording with the pictures he had every intention of acquiring of Steele bedding Lauran's friend, Roselli was confident the days of the Steele-Holt marriage had at last come to an end.

Once he revealed Steele's dirty dealings to her, personally, he had no doubt she turned to him for comfort, regardless of their prior misunderstandings. He knew, unequivocally, that once he got Laura between the sheets, Steele would wipe any sign of her from his life.

He laughed maniacally at how his plan was coming together. His plan to strip Steele of everything he cared about was well underway with this latest turn of events, and as for Laura?

She would be his… until he decided otherwise.

* * *

Remington arrived at the loft before Jocelyn. Setting the scene, he emptied the trays of ice from Laura's freezer into the bucket, then set the champagne into it to chill. Extracting the exquisite Waterford champagne flutes he'd gifted her with when they began spending full weekends with one another from the kitchen cabinet, he set them near the chilling champers.

He rubbed his hands together. His nerves were on end from anticipation. If all went according to plan, Roselli would be in his hands very shortly. It was long past time to put an end to the man's intrusion into their marriage, once and for all.

But not before he extracted retribution for Roselli putting his hands on his wife. He'd been patently clear with Roselli in Cannes that the man would never lay another hand on Laura. That he'd done it again? Consequences be damned.

He took a deep breath at the light tapping on the loft door.

 _Showtime._

* * *

Monroe and his men had arrived at Laura's building at the same time Remington was making his call to Jocelyn from the Agency in order to assure Roselli would not spot them before they could get in place. Monroe had made his selection of men carefully, wanting not only his most trusted associates with him for the trap they were setting, but some of the largest and most fleet of foot. With names such as Tank, Dozer and Rocky, size was certainly not an issue.

Remington had informed Monroe that in order for Roselli to get close enough to take pictures, he would have no choice but to ascend the fire escape that looked into her loft, as it was the sole view into her inner sanctum. To that end, he directed Dozer and Rocky to the roof where they could descend the fire escape when given the signal, while Monroe and Tank could go upwards when the time came, effectively leaving Roselli with no way out.

Monroe and Tank set themselves low in his car and waited for Roselli to appear.

* * *

Remington slid open the loft door and invited Jocelyn in with a kiss to both cheeks. Both tried their best not to appear uncomfortable, but the reality was, ruse or not, the act they were about to put on tread a little bit too close to betraying significant others and friends for either of their comfort.

"Jocelyn, darling, I'm so glad you agreed to meet," he told her, steeping his words with a healthy bit of charm.

"What is it about you that I can't say no?" she lamented, already falling into her role.

"Perhaps it is not I, but simply the decadence of it all," he suggested. "I've a 1976 Dom Perignon chilling. Would you care to toast a reunion too long in the making?"

"I'd love to," she agreed.

Peeling back the foil and popping the cork, Remington filled each of their glasses half full. Handing her one, he proposed a toast.

"To best laid plans…" Jocelyn raised her brows and smiled at the double meaning.

"To best laid plans…" she returned, with a nod of her head, then watched as Remington crossed to the stereo. Finding a station that offered soft jazz, he offered her his hand.

"A dance, to set the mood, darling?" A look of relief on her face, she took his proffered hand, and stepped into his frame.

They both said a little prayer that Roselli would show shortly.

* * *

Roselli parked the van across the street from Laura's building. Turning on the recorder, he double checked the equipment to assure it was working properly. Satisfied, he put a cap on his head, pulling it low over his forehead. A quick pat of his pockets confirmed he had extra rolls of film ready and waiting.

Opening the door, he slipped out of the van and strode across the street, trying to appear as though he belonged in the neighborhood. Without a glance in either direction, he turned into the alleyway next to Laura's building, then shortly thereafter began alighting the fire escape under the watchful eyes of Tank and Monroe. Picking up the car phone, Monroe dialed the loft phone, letting it ring twice then hanging up.

* * *

Remington briefly closed his eyes when the phone rang twice then ceased. Relief and anticipation swamped him. Dropping his head, he whispered next to Jocelyn's ear.

"He's here."

She nodded. They continued to dance, awaiting the next call to signal that Roselli had been secured by Monroe and his men.

* * *

Two minutes after Roselli began his climb up the fire escape, Monroe and Tank departed the car.

"We're on, boys," Monroe ordered into the walkie talkie he held in hand.

He and Tank trotted to the fire escape and quickly began their ascent, taking care to step as quietly as possible so as not to give Roselli an early warning of their presence. Halting a dozen feet below Laura's kitchen windows, where they could see Roselli squatted down and could hear the click of the lens of the camera held in his hand, they waited. Only when they could clearly see Dozer and Rocky just above Laura's floor, did they close in.

Leaning against the fire escape's railing in a pose that appeared casual yet was anything but, Monroe smoothly commented, "I don't believe my old friend would appreciate his privacy being invaded in such a manner. What do you think, Tank?"

Roselli started, nearly dropping his camera. Still crouched down, he turned to look at Monroe over his shoulder. "Piss off," he sneered, while surreptitiously looking for an avenue of escape.

"Afraid I can't do that, mate. My friend in there would like to have a word or two with you." Monroe paused, as though considering something. "For that matter, I have a thought or two myself about any man would presume to put his hands on a woman, most especially one for whom I hold a deep regard."

Roselli had risen slowly to his feet during Monroe's short speech. Grabbing the slats in the landing above him, he swung his body forward, to connect his feet with Monroe's abdomen. Monroe was thrown against the rail behind him by the force with a grunt. Dropping to his feet, Roselli darted for the stairs leading upwards, only to find a large meaty hand around the back of his neck, dragging him backwards.

"The only place you're going is down, man," the deep baritone of Tank intoned. Before Roselli could blink, Monroe righted himself and landed a fist in his stomach, forcing the air out of Roselli with a hiss.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Roselli panted.

"The man here is refusing our hospitality," Tank called to the men above. "I don't think I like that. Whatta bout you Doze, Rock?"

The two men from above, descended, crowding around Roselli on the platform. Roselli stared at the walls of flesh in front of him.

"I think he might need a little… inspiration," Doze answered cracking his knuckles. "You, Rock?"

"Better manners, fo' sure," the beefy man standing next to Doze agreed. "Maybe we need to ask again." Pulling back his arm, he planted his fist squarely in Roselli's left cheekbone. Roselli fell backwards, landing against Laura's kitchen window with a thud.

Inside the apartment, Remington and Jocelyn turned to look at the window, watching as Roselli braced his hands against the window, righting himself, hands held up in surrender. Turning to Jocelyn, Remington picked up her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

"Laura and I cannot thank you enough for your assistance this morning, Jocelyn. Now, however, it seems my attentions are needed elsewhere." Jocelyn nodded at him.

"Tell Monroe I'll see him at home, if you don't mind." She walked towards the loft door, before pausing, and turning back around to face him. "And, Remington, let Roselli know I'm offended both by what he's done to Laura and for believing that I would cheat on Monroe at all, let alone with his friend."

"I'll make sure I do just that," he assured her. Handing her out the door and he followed behind her. Securing the loft, he escorted her outside, then they parted. He journeyed to the alleyway, waiting for Roselli's descent.

He didn't have long to wait. In short order, Monroe landed on the pavement followed by Tank, Dozer and Rocky, Roselli between the men. Roselli sneered at Remington upon seeing him.

"Steele," he ground out.

"Roselli," Remington answered, with undisguised loathing.

"Getting others to do your dirty work for you now, are you? I always knew you're a pussy." Remington tsked his tongue at the man.

"Such crass language, Antony. Showing your true colors, eh?" Remington commented, slowly approaching the man. Remington casually shrugged out of his suit jacket, laying it on top of a garbage can. Rolling up his sleeves one at a time, he continued to speak. "As for the men? They're here merely to escort you to the INS offices once we've completed our little… chat. Seems some rather high up in the organization are… unhappy with your recent… activities, shall we say?"

"Yeah, I overheard your and Laura's little plan, among other thing, in recent days… big guy," Roselli taunted.

Remington saw red at reference to the name Laura would often teasingly call him in their more intimate moments alone together, confirming Roselli had been listening to every private moment between the two of them. He quickly sorted through his memories, confirming Laura's last reference to himself as such was a full week before. A right undercut landed in Roselli's stomach, before Remington's fingers quickly wrapped around the man's neck propelling his body into the wall behind him. Adjusting, Remington pressed his forearm across the man's throat.

"I believe I made myself clear in Cannes, Antony, that you'd never lay another hand upon my wife," he snarled, teeth bared, "and what would happen should you be so foolish as to do so again."

"Laura's no more your wife, than Princess Diana," Roselli managed around the pressure on his throat. "Your marriage is a fraud, Steele. You know it, I know it… and Laura knows it. Once I get her alone…" His words were cut off by a right hook connecting with his mouth. His lip split and blood freely flowed.

"You will go… nowhere…" a left cross caught Roselli in the cheekbone "… near Laura, ever again" a quick right caught Roselli in the eye. Dropping down, Roselli barreled forward, using his head like a ramrod, knocking Remington back and making him stumble. Roselli was blindsided by Monroe's fist connecting his nose, the satisfying crunch on impact making it clear it had been broken. More blood flowed as Roselli grabbed for it, his head turning to look at Monroe.

"This is not your fight," he panted. "You heard Steele. This is between him and me."

"Au contraire, Roselli," Monroe disagreed. "I told you only a few brief moments ago, that I had a thing or two to say to you about daring to place your hands on a woman that I hold dear."

"Your skinny ass can't fight your own battles, Steele?" Roselli demanded to know, breathlessly, turning his attention back to Remington. "It's no wonder Laura's been looking for a real ma—"

His words were cut off as Remington's fist connected with his face again. With several right upper cuts into his abdomen, Remington forced Roselli back against the wall again. A quick knee to the gut, took Roselli to his knees.

"I assure you, Antony, I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, as you put it," Remington answered, short of breath now as well. "But should my friend feel the need to impart a few words of wisdom of his own upon you, I'll not stop him."

Roselli bounded to his feet, and catching Remington off-guard hit him with right jab and left cross, splitting Remington's lip and bruising an eye. Displaying the skills learned as a youth on the street and even later in the boxing ring, Remington quickly landed a series of punches, before grabbing the man by the hair and slamming the back of his head against the brick wall. Roselli groaned as he saw stars.

"I'll get her away from you, Steele, if it's the last thing I do," Roselli vowed, gasping.

"You'll go nowhere near her again," Remington roared, landing several more blows until Roselli sunk to his knees. "No more flowers," a foot connected with Roselli's ribs, "No more notes," then another, "No more phone calls or cornering her alone," one more for good measure. Grabbing Roselli by the hair, he lifted the man to his feet and pushed him back against the wall to look at him. "As of this moment, Laura no longer exists to you. Do you understand… mate?" Dazed, Roselli still managed to give him a defiant look. With a grunt of irritation, Remington snapped his head back against the wall again, then watched impassively as Roselli hit the ground, unconscious.

Standing, Remington ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Seems the man is determined to hold tight to this obsession of his, my friend," Monroe noted.

"So I see," Remington growled. He began to pace, then turned to stare at Roselli.

"Something on your mind, Mick?" Remington nodded slowly.

"If your men would be good enough to make certain he stays put, I've a call to make. A slight change in plans."

"You heard the man," Monroe instructed his men. "Should he come to and decide he wishes to leave, do what you need to keep him here." All three men uttered their understanding. Monroe turned to follow Remington to the Auburn.

Leaning over the door, Remington picked up the receiver of the phone and dialed a number then waited for an answer. "Detective Jarvis, please. Tell him Remington Steele is on the line and needs to speak with him about a matter of some urgency… Yes, yes, I'll hold."

"The police?" Monroe queried. "Do you think that is the wisest of choices, my friend, given recent events?" He asked, looking over his shoulder towards the alleyway, scratching his chin.

"Wonderful thing, American jurisprudence," Remington grinned. "Roselli struck the first blow, therefore we had the right to defend ourselves. And the American judicial system tends to take a dim view of assault upon a woman, not to mention invading the privacy of one's home," Remington explained. His attention was directed back to the phone when someone picked up on the other side.

"Steele, what's going on?" Jarvis queried.

"I'm in need of a couple of your boys in blue sent round to Laura's loft, if you don't mind," he provided.

"What have you and Holt gotten yourselves into now, Steele?" Jarvis nearly groaned.

"Nothing at all, although we've just managed to corral the man that has stalked my wife the last four months across numerous countries." In his office at the LAPD, Jarvis dropped his feet from the edge of his desk and sat up.

"Describe what you mean by 'stalked', Steele," he demanded.

"Followed her throughout Mexico, England, Ireland, France and here in LA. Unwanted flowers, notes. Our homes and office broken into and bugged. Our vehicles with transmitters planted on them. Not to mention he's twice now physically battered her," Steele bit out. "Now, are you going to send some of your boys round, or shall I take care of the matter myself?"

"They're on the way, and so am I," Jarvis answered, standing to slip on his jacket. "Don't do anything stupid before I get there."

Disconnecting the call, Remington dialed information, then waited as his call was connected to Meyerson's law office.

"Remington Steele calling for Mr. Meyerson… In a meeting?... Yes, but I'm quite sure he'd want to be informed immediately of events that have just transpired here… Would you be able to perhaps slip him a note?... I do appreciate that… Just let him know I am here with Roselli and the police are on their way… R-O-S-E-L-L-I… That's correct… Of course I'll wait." He didn't have to wait long for Meyerson to come to the phone.

"Mr. Steele? Fill me in," Meyerson said, cutting to the chase.

"You may want to reach out to your contact at the INS and let them know that Roselli will be, quite shortly, cooling his heels at the Los Angeles County Jail."

"Has something further happened since we met yesterday? How did you end up in Roselli's company? On what grounds will he be in custody of the LAPD?" Meyerson peppered Remington with rapid fire questions.

"Laura and I found our homes and workplaces had been bugged, our cars outfitted with transmitters. He chose to follow me to Laura's loft, where we had a small… tussle. As for the charges? Numerous, I imagine, although you'll need to speak with the LAPD to get those details once he's been processed." Remington paused, then carefully selecting his words, continued. "You can tell your contact we'll only be dropping those charges once Roselli is personally escorted by an esteemed member of their agency to whichever plane it is he'll be taking to Frankfurt."

"Should I ask if you'll be needing legal representation, Mr. Steele?" Meyerson inquired, suspecting there was far more than a 'tussle' involved.

"I don't see why I would. After all, it's a fundamental right in this country that one is permitted to defend their home and person. I've done nothing more than that."

"If you find the authorities have a differing opinion, call me. I'll be sure to inform our receptionist and Ms. Wamai that you're to be connected to me at once."

"I appreciate that, Meyerson. In the meantime, if you could do what you're able to hasten Roselli's departure, we'd be most grateful."

"I'll see what I can do. I'll be in touch, Mr. Steele."

Remington hung up the phone, just in time to see the first squad car approaching. He stood, then held out a hand to Monroe. Shaking his hand and giving Monroe a slap on a shoulder, he looked at him with profound gratitude. "I owe you, old friend."

"You owe me nothing," Monroe contradicted. "You know as well as I, it is our way." Remington nodded solemnly.

"Aye, that I do."

Together the two men prepared for what was certain to be a lengthy afternoon of questions asked and answers provided.


	28. Chapter 26: Reflections

Chapter 26: Reflections

By two o'clock, Laura had moved from curious to antsy. An hour after that, she'd hovered somewhere in the vicinity of concerned. By four o'clock, she was verging on frantic as she clomped her way back and forth between her office and her husband's and thirty minutes past that her anxiety was flirting with crossing the line to anger. _Where are you, Mr. Steele?_ she asked herself for the hundredth time.

She flopped herself down in his office chair, staring at the phone, willing it to ring. Without Mildred there to bounce her concerns off of, she could only stew. _I hate this. I should be out there in the thick of it all, not sitting, waiting, wondering._ Not for the first time, she damned her bad luck and the person that had tried to run them down, landing her in the boot – the boot that was the very reason she was not with her partner. She felt the inevitable stirrings of a pounding headache. Leaning on her elbows against Remington's desk, her fingers found her temples and began to rub.

"Headache, love?" Laura's head snapped up to see her husband leaning against the doorway of his office. She quickly took in his wrinkled appearance, split lip and black and blue eye.

"Damn it, Remington, I knew something had gone wrong when I hadn't heard from you," she told him while pushing herself up from his chair and crossing the room to him. She reached out to touch her fingertips to his lips. "What happened?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he assured her, waving his hand dismissively at the injuries. Rather than reassuring her, the gesture grated.

"Where have you been all afternoon? Do you have any idea what's been going through my mind?" Annoyance seeped through her voice. Her hands reached for her temples again.

"Agreed, it took a bit longer than I'd intended, but once we'd finished with LA's finest, I felt the need to rid the loft of its unwelcome guests."

"The LAPD?" she asked, clearly shocked by this tidbit of information. She crossed the room to his desk, and bracing her arms on it leaned towards him, zeroing on him with narrowed eyes. "What business, exactly, did you have to conduct with the LAPD?"

"It occurred to me, once we'd secured Roselli, that it would do us little good to simply escort him to the INS offices. He'd be provided with his marching orders, yes, but then would be free to do as he pleased until his flight's departure. The LA County Jail seemed a perfectly adequate, not to mention familiar, lodging facility until that date arrived." She sank down into one of the nearby chairs, tapping steepled fingers together.

"A babysitter of a kind…" He grinned.

"Precisely." His smile was not returned, instead she continued to regard him somberly.

"And when he makes bail?"

"Jarvis assured me that he'll make it patently clear to the judge that Roselli poses a flight risk and encourage that a no bond be set or, at the very least, a bail that is… prohibitive, shall we say… to his release be established." She nodded her head slowly.

"What are the charges?"

He recited the charges while ticking them off on his fingers one-by-one. "Breaking and entering; burglary of an unoccupied building; trespassing; harassment; assault against yourself and I; as well as battery against yourself and I." She closed her eyes and nodded.

"So, when news of his arrest is made public, it'll appear that we're unable to provide adequate security of our own home and business, drawing into question for our clients the reliability of the security services we provide to them." A hand reached for her brow, then dropped as he flashed his pearly whites at her. Rising from her seat, she again leaned on both arms against his desk. "You seem alarmingly unconcerned about the potential impact against the Agency, Mr. Steele," she observed in a cool voice.

Standing, he took one of her hands. She reluctantly allowed him to lead her around to his side of the desk. She leaned her bottom against it, crossing her arms, making her displeasure well known as he took his seat again.

"I might be concerned," he allowed, "had Jarvis not assured me that the arrest report will be conveniently misplaced until such a time as we drop the charges. Just in the nick of time, I might add, for Roselli to board a plane for overseas."

"Is the INS aware that he's been arrested and on what charges?"

"I informed Meyerson of Roselli's pending arrest before the police arrived. So I imagine they are, by now, at least," he shrugged lightly. Reaching for her hand, he tried to ease her closer. One corner of her mouth lifted as she shook her head.

"Don't you think it's time to remove some unwelcome guests around the office?" she pondered, while examining first his right hand, then his left. "Not to mention, removing transmitters from both of our vehicles and likely off the limo as well. Then there's Mildred…" she trailed off suggestively. He groaned mournfully at the last.

"She's more than a bit put out with me at the moment, I dare say." She gave him a little smirk. A single brow was raised in her direction. "Finding amusement in that, are you Miss Holt?"

"I believe in this particular instance, that's Mrs. Steele," she answered pertly, her grin only widening.

"I see. Yet you don't deny you find enjoyment in the fact that our Ms. Krebs is quite convinced I'm a philandering husband… and so soon after we wed." She patted his shoulder placatingly.

"Would you feel better if we made the call together?" she asked, feigning empathy, even as laughter traipsed lightly through her words. He furrowed his brows at her.

"One might be inclined to believe their wife would be chafed… offended even… by such aspersions upon her husband's character. _Especially_ given that recent history would denounce the very idea of me as a womanizer," he harrumphed. She gave him a saucy little wink.

"Or," she drawled out the word, "said wife might see it as a little divine retribution for all the bimbos her husband dragged through the office for quite some time after they first met." He visibly grimaced at her words.

"Will I forever be reminded of mere _couple of weeks_ that I took leave of my senses, despite the ensuing _years_ of self-imposed celibacy? I should _think_ the latter would far outweigh the former," he groused, almost petulantly. She shivered slightly at the reminder. Leaning over, she slid her fingers through his hair, before touching her lips lightly to his.

"I assure you, it does for me."

Fingers dancing over her back and a hand cupping her head, he took the kiss to another level, slowly easing her down onto his lap. They both sank into the kiss, savoring the taste, the feel of one another. Humming, she squirmed in his lap at the sensual onslaught, ripping a soft moan from deep within his throat. Reality came racing back, and she quickly slipped away, even as his hands gave chase.

"Aw," he groaned in disappointment. She tapped the face of her watch.

"Business hours, Mr. Steele," she admonished him lightly, "and we're currently lacking a guard at the gates." His brows furrowed at the reminder. His eyes followed her path to the sofa. She waved her finger pointedly at the phone on his desk. "Mildred."

"Mmmm," he hummed, even as he dreaded the call. Picking up the receiver, he dialed Mildred's home number. When it began to rang, Laura picked up the extension next to the couch.

"Krebs," Mildred answered the phone briskly.

"Mildred, it's me…." The dial tone buzzed in his ear. He stared at the phone, dumbfounded. He'd now been hung up one three times in half as many days, twice by the same woman. He shifted his eyes to his wife, who snorted with amusement on the couch nearby.

"As enjoyable as you seem to find this, maybe I need to point out that I can hardly give explanations if the woman bloody well won't even speak with me," he told her testily. To her credit, she tried to put on a sober face, but another laugh bubbled up past her lips. He glowered at her.

"Let me try," she offered, still giggling. Dialing Mildred's number, she bit back her laugh as Mildred answered again.

"I thought I made it clear I have nothing to say to you right now—" she began, fully intending to box his ears verbally.

"Mildred, it's me," Laura announced.

"Oh, Miss Holt. I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." Mildred's words petered off.

"That someone else is sitting here with me. Mildred, you didn't hear what you thought you did. You owe it to Mr. Steele to let him explain… to let us explain," she urged.

"I know what I heard," Mildred insisted. "My hearing is just as sharp as it was thirty years ago." Laura sighed.

"Let me clarify: Yes, you heard what you thought you did, but all's not as it seems. I'm sure you can appreciate that, given how many times across the years we've run into such anomalies in our work." Mildred huffed out a breath.

"I'll listen to what he has to say, but I'm not promising I'll believe a word of it." Laura wagged her finger at his phone again, indicating he should pick up the line. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"Mildred, what you heard was all part of a ruse devised between Miss Holt and myself to catch Roselli." His eyes darted to Laura when she hummed in agreement.

"Uh huh," Mildred answered, disbelief dripping from the two short syllables. Remington rubbed his mouth in frustration.

"Roselli had bugged the flat, Laura's loft, the office… all the phones in each. I'd no way of explaining that call, Mildred, without alerting Roselli." His voice held a plea that he be believed. "Mildred, you of all people know what Laura means to me. Do you really believe that I'd put at risk what we've finally claimed for ourselves, after all it's taken to get us here?" Her silence was as deafening as it was lengthy.

"No," she finally answered, clearly embarassed. "Oh, Boss, can you ever forgive me?" Her voice was watery with unshed tears.

"There's nothing to forgive, at all. I only wish we'd been able to explain beforehand so you'd not been upset by our little ploy." In her kitchen, Mildred sniffed loudly, before pulling back her shoulders and resuming the role of major domo and investigator in training.

"Did you get the slimeball?" Remington leaned back in his chair, smiling, as he propped his feet on the corner of the desk.

"We did. He's currently cooling his heels in the LA County jail – where he'll remain until the INS sends him on his way."

"And the bugs?"

"We removed them from the flat last night," Laura provided, finally stepping into the conversation. "Mr. Steele and Monroe cleared the loft this afternoon. He and I will be cleaning the Agency as soon as we get off the phone."

"All I can say is the sooner the INS moves the dirt bag on his way, the better."

"Mr. Steele and I couldn't agree, more," Laura agreed. "You'll be here tomorrow?"

"With bells on," she confirmed.

"Alright, we'll see you then. Have a good night."

"You two kids go find a way to celebrate after you finish cleaning house."

Remington cast a lascivious glance in Laura's direction. _My thoughts precisely._ "'Til the morning then, eh?"

"I'll be there bright eyed and bushy tailed. Good night, Mr. Steele."

"Good night, Mildred," he returned fondly, before disconnecting the call.

Laura stood from the couch and stretched.

"You start in here, I'll start in my office," she suggested. He hummed his agreement, then leaned back to enjoy the view of the gentle sway of his wife's hips as she crossed his office and left.

On the way to her office, Laura decided to take a detour into the bathroom. Although Roselli had not bugged their bathroom at home, it seemed foolish to assume that he would follow suit here at the office. A thorough search left her empty handed, though laughing quietly to herself as she'd poked around the bottom drawer of the vanity.

Years back when Bernice was still with the Agency, they'd claimed the bottom drawer as their own, stuffing it full of all those little things a woman might find herself in sudden need of: tampons, Pamprin, a stock of condoms, deodorant, hair gel and the like. They'd quickly realized that Murphy considered that drawer wholly taboo and took to stashing anything they wanted to hide in there: the latest smut novel they were reading, an article on a particular actor they admired, and even gifts when Murph's birthday would roll around.

When Remington had joined – or invaded, depending on how one looked at it and on what day – the Agency, it seemed feminine products were as effective a deterrent for him as they were her former partner. On many occasions she had hidden small surprises for him in that drawer – a new videotape to add to his library, a book on cinematic history – and he'd been none the wiser. Unlike her purse, from which he would often nick something to see how long it would take her to notice it had gone missing.

The days of that drawer being as welcome for Remington as a head-to-toe body wax for himself were now ancient history, she reflected. After those first days in Vail, when they'd begun spending weekends at either his flat or her loft, he'd developed an immunity against the discomfort stirred by all things female and personal. If anything, they'd often been a source of almost endless fascination for him during those first few months, querying what brand and type she preferred of this-or-that and why. Initially, she found she was the one mortified by some of his questions, until she realized this was simply another part of the intimacy he both craved and cherished. For a man that had, for a decade and a half, made it a practice to slip from a woman's bed before the dawn, he enjoyed learning every nuance of her life.

It was only a short while later that she began to note the changes he'd made at his flat. A bathroom drawer cleared out, to be used exclusively for her belongings. Her inexpensive, pink Lady Bic disposable razors disappeared, to be replaced with a top-of-the-line razor that 'all but guarantees a nick free, close shave,' he'd informed her. Boxes of tampons would appear among the groceries he'd bring home, with him meticulously purchasing the brand she preferred in both light and heavy day varieties. The first time he'd come home with such, she'd looked at him stunned – and frankly somewhat embarrassed herself. He'd only shrugged in a manner that said, 'What? You need them don't' you?' It tickled her that he appeared to be the only man – ever – that didn't blanch at the idea of picking up essentials for their significant other. Over time, she realized he viewed such acts as another small way in which she would allow him to care for her.

As she moved into her office to search, she laughed again, amending that with _or throwing away things that belonged to the person they were committed to._ It seemed that newfound status, accompanied by their relationship moving ever forward, had made him comfortable enough to make decisions about… certain matters. Shortly after they'd arrived home from Vail, she recalled, she was touching up her makeup in the Agency bathroom before they were to depart for dinner. Remington had leaned back against the counter, watching as she applied mascara then a touch of lipstick, while trying to convince her that one weekday night added to their weekends would not disrupt the office. When she'd opened her drawer to grab a new hair elastic to replace the one she'd just broke, he straightened suddenly, before plucking the box of condoms from within said drawer. Giving it a cursory examination, he smiled in smug satisfaction to find they were not only unopened but expired by more than two years. He made a great ceremony of dropping them into the trash can. She'd been unable to quell the small snort of amusement.

"Should I take that as enthusiastic approval of my preference for birth control?" she'd asked, while smirking at his image in the mirror. His hands grasped her waist and turned her around.

"Amongst other things," he answered vaguely, leaning in for a kiss. She sighed when their lips parted, as though contemplating something of great import.

"Then I guess, I can get rid of the ones in my purse, not to mention the glove box in the Rabbit and drawers at home." She suppressed a laugh, as he shifted from foot-to-foot, thoroughly discombobulated by her response. _Oh, ho, no way in hell I'm letting you know that for three and half years, I've been unable to think about going to bed with any man but you. You'll think you have the upper hand._

That intent, of course, went up in smoke during their premarital counseling session with Ioseph. Still, after an admission of his own, they left the session with neither having the upper hand but both with a new appreciation that each of them had been 'in too deep' for years.

As her hands skimmed along the back edge of a filing cabinet, she laughed silently to herself again, as she recalled a time after their marriage where she _had_ walked away holding the upper hand. The day they'd arrived home from their honeymoon, they'd stopped by the loft for her to pack up the additional clothing she'd need – most notably the undergarments, stockings, running clothes and casual wear that was not currently still lying on the floor of Remington's closet with her dress and business attire. While she listened to the messages on her answering machine, she'd caught him red-handed, surreptitiously discarding her modest, white cotton undergarments. While she'd scolded him lightly, the next evening as she'd unpacked said garments into her new dresser, she found him looking at the cotton garb with no modicum of distaste.

"Alright, Mr. Steele, let's have it," she'd demanded, laughter lacing her words, "You seem to be less than thrilled with my choices in undergarments." He gave a short, barking laugh.

"Let's just say, I'd far prefer to see your lovely body adorned in the silks and laces that do you the justice you deserve," he'd hedged, feeling pretty pleased with himself in his answer.

"Well," she drew out the word, feigning consideration of what he said, "You might be right. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to discard them."

He was only too willing to help her to do just that, making it a point to toss the offensive items in the kitchen trash, then gallantly taking the nearly empty trash bag to the incinerator chute lest she change her mind.

Two days later, she wandered out of their bedroom in a pair of running shorts, a white tank and tennis shoes. With a lift of his brow and a glimmer in his eyes, Remington admired how the curve of her delightful little bum peeked out of the bottom of the shorts, the bare skin beckoning long, elegant fingers to caress it. Hands lightly gripping her waist, he eased her body against his, kissing her softly at first, then probing more deeply as a hand found and fairly worshipped a cheek of her bottom. She pressed closer to him, humming with pleasure, but when both hands grasped those cheeks planning to lift her up to feel the glory of her legs wrapped around him she slipped out of his grasp and backed away. She playfully poked a finger at his shoulder.

"Sorry, Mr. Steele. It's time for me to get back into training if I'm going to be ready for the marathon in January," she sassed. When she received no reply, she tipped her head watching as his eyes devoured appreciatively the red lace that could be seen through the lightweight tank top before zeroing in on the tips of her breasts that had grown taut in response to their kisses and the stroke of his hand over the bare skin of her bottom. She knew the second her words registered with him. His head jerked up, his jaw dropped, and he fairly bellowed at her.

"You'll go out running in…" he swept his hand up and down her body, "… in that, over my dead body." Her eyes narrowed at both his words and tone. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he tried again. "Laura, every man within a mile will be ogling…" he held up a hand towards her breasts, then both hands out as though prepared to cup her bottom. In desperation, he tried again. "What if a client sees you, a member of the press?" She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"When I'm wearing the appropriate undergarments, my running clothes don't seem as… risqué?... racy?" she offered, looking down at herself and pretending hesitancy about what she was wearing.

His mind wandered to two years before, when he'd followed a lovely, long-legged field darter with the telephoto lens on his camera as she ran across a park. He could still picture her vividly, and cringed when he recalled the patches of white that would periodically peek out from the back of her shorts. _Bloody hell,_ he thought to himself, as he tried to figure a way out of the conundrum he'd created over his criticism of those modest, white cotton garments. He breathed a sigh of relief, when she offered the solution to him.

"I supposed I could wear my biking clothes instead." She chewed on her bottom lip, pretending indecision. He jumped on the offer, while trying to imbue nonchalance.

"Hmmmm, I think that would be in the best interest of the image we try so hard to maintain," he nodded. Puffing out a breath, she nodded her head then adjourned to the bedroom.

He'd just settled on the couch, patting himself smugly on the back, when she strolled back out in said biking clothes. He blinked hard, jaw dropping again. He had to forcibly quash the groan of dismay that was desperately trying to bubble up out of his chest. _Good Lord, what have I done?_ he wondered, castigating himself for the position he was now in. If anything, this outfit was even worse. While the shorts reached nearly mid-thigh, the skin, hugging spandex showed off her flat stomach, the soft curve of her hips and that delectable little bottom in all their glory. Eyes slowly moving upwards, he lifted a thumb to his mouth to worry a thumbnail. _Damn, damn, and double damn,_ he swore in his mind. The skin tight top highlighted the stunning curve of her waist and the gentle swell of her breasts. His mind sputtered then stopped functioning at all when he realized there was not an outline of a bra or a panty line to be seen. He gulped hard.

"Laura…" he drawled, miserably. She, in turn, looked at him askance.

"You can't say that I'm not appropriately covered," she argued. For brief seconds his lips moved but no sounds emerged. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

"You are," he agreed, regrettably, "but… you've no… It shows… I can see… Bloody hell," he muttered, giving up on finding the right words, returning his teeth to his thumbnail. She frowned at him, then leaned over to touch her toes, pretending to stretch out. A glimpse of that bottom up in the air, had him scrubbing at his face with his hands.

"Laura…" he tried again. She stood tall, then plunked her hands on her hips.

"This is the best I can do, Remington. I've got to go. It'll be dark soon and I want to get in at least a couple miles." Leaning down, she brushed her lips quickly over his cheek before leaving the apartment, the door clicking quietly shut behind her.

She waited until the doors of the elevator closed before she pressed her back against a wall and let the laughter flow. It wasn't often that she could throw her Mr. Steele completely off balance, and she'd enjoyed it immensely.

She was back at the flat an hour and a half later and looking forward to a warm, vigorous shower. Hearing Remington puttering around in the kitchen, she headed directly to the bedroom stripping out of her top as she walked. She snickered when she saw a half dozen pairs of modest, white cotton panties and bras lying on the bed, laid out for her approval. _Laura 1, Remington 0_ , she gloated to herself…

Her reverie was interrupted by the ringing of the Agency phone. Pushing herself out from under the desk where she'd been checking for listening devices, she reached for the phone but heard Remington answer it from the reception area where he had moved on to.

"Steele, here." She smiled to herself, as she recognized another change in him across the years. There'd been a time when Bernice had to all but beg to get him to answer the phone himself. These days, he did it without a second thought when Mildred was not in. "Yes, Jarvis, what can I do for you?... I see… I hadn't realized… Yes, we'll be in straight away…" He glanced at his watch. "Will thirty minutes do?... Alright, we'll see you then." Hanging up the phone, he sighed in irritation. He'd been looking forward to completing the cleanup of Roselli's invasion on home and business, then returning to the flat to cook them dinner before they celebrated Roselli's departure from their lives.

"What did Jarvis want?" Laura asked from where she leaned against the jamb of her office door. He looked at her regretfully.

"Seems you need to complete a statement yourself regarding Roselli's assault of you in the hospital garage. He's expecting us within the half hour. It looks like dinner will be postponed, love."

"Haven't you already given your statement?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"I have," he confirmed.

"Then there's no need for both of us to go down to the station," she pointed out, crossing the room to him. "After all, if you finish up here and go home, you'll likely have dinner just about ready by the time I get there." She stepped to him, and ran a single finger down his front from neck to belt. "Then we can be… oh, in the bathtub, maybe?... all the sooner." She bit her lip as she felt the tremor of his body under her wandering finger. His tongue flicked against his lips at her suggestion.

"I could do that," he agreed, drawing her near for a brief taste of her lips. Her hand caressed his cheek before she stepped back. Returning to her office, she grabbed her purse off her desk and the jacket to her suit off of the arm of a chair where she'd slung it. She stopped to touch her lips against his one last time before walking towards the Agency doors.

"I'll see you at home." She paused in her step, to look back over her shoulder at him, giving him a lusty little look. "All of you…"

Pearly whites flashed at her, and hungry eyes followed her out the door.


	29. Chapter 27: Everything

Chapter 27: Everything

Surprisingly, Jarvis hustled Laura straight into his office as soon as she arrived, anxious himself to wrap up the work day. Within thirty minutes her statement was made and signed. As she rose to leave, she chewed at her bottom lip uncertainly, before giving a sharp nod of her head in answer to her internal questions.

"Detective Jarvis, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Roselli for a few minutes." Jarvis looked at her, caught off guard at the request.

"I'd think you'd want nothing to do with him after all he's put you and Steele through," he commented thoughtfully. "Are you sure that's wise, Miss Holt?" She shrugged.

"I think I've more than earned the right to inform him, in person, that this is the end of the line for him where Mr. Steele and I are concerned. Don't you?" she demanded to know, her brow furrowed with annoyance. Jarvis held up both hands at her.

"I didn't say you couldn't, I asked if you thought it was wise. What would Steele think?" She winced at the question, admitting that he would more than likely be furious when she told him.

"I've had years of dealing with Mr. Steele's… irritation… with some of my decisions, Detective. But that's the point. It's not your decision to make or his. It's mine. And I'd like to speak with the man," she insisted in a voice that brooked no argument. Jarvis lifted his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head.

"You can't say I don't know to get out your way when you're determined to do something," he relented. Pointing a finger in her direction, he amended, "But only five minutes, Miss Holt. Visiting hours are over and I don't want the jail rioting because other inmates view Roselli as receiving special treatment." He opened the door and escorted her from his office as he spoke.

"I'm sure five minutes will be more than sufficient," she agreed, with a regal nod of her head.

Jarvis stopped at a desk positioned next to a door where a lone officer sat.

"Andrews, have Roselli brought to the visiting area. I'll escort Miss Holt in myself." Andrews promptly picked up the phone, calling back into the jail to make the arrangement. Jarvis led Laura through the door, then down a long hall, before they turned to their left and entered a long, empty room that featured chairs on one side of a partition of glass, where an equal number of chairs were lined up on the other side. Dividers could be found approximately every four feet, and a phone hung on each side of the glass in the makeshift cubicles. Jarvis ushered her into the first of the cubicles then backed up to stand a respectable distance away to allow her privacy.

She watched impassively as an officer led Roselli into the other side of the room. Her eyes calmly raked across his face, noting his blackened eyes, swollen cheek bones, split lip, taped nose and that he held himself stiffly as he shuffled towards where she sat. The look of hatred that flashed briefly through his eyes was so stunning in its intensity that she had to suppress the gasp before it passed her lips. Just as quickly, it disappeared to be replaced by that smarmy smile he seemed to reserve for her.

She picked up the phone and waited for him to do the same.

"I'm so glad you came, Laura," he began. "You've gotta tell them that this is all a big misunder—" Her disbelieving laugh and brisk shake of her head, was accompanied by a hand held up towards him.

"Don't even bother, Tony," she bit out. "I'm not here to visit, to engage in small talk, or even to play your little games." His lip curled upward at both her words and her sharp tone.

"Proud of your husband's…" he sneered the last word "handiwork?" She rolled her eyes upward and carelessly flicked a hand at him.

"If you're hoping for sympathy, even pity, you'll have to look somewhere else," she told him dismissively. "You won't find any with me. You tried to have Remington killed in London. You helped frame him in Mexico for Keyes alleged murder. You've since made threats against his life… again. You've bugged our homes and office, put transmitters on our cars." She took a deep breath, trying to control the anger that had begun to rage as she ticked off the man's offenses against she and Remington. "You've twice… _twice now_ … battered me."

"Laura, I'm sorry. You know I'd never hurt you, not intentional—"

"Enough!" she demanded, her voice harsh, matching the fury in her eyes, the tightly controlled anger in her face. " _No more._ No more lies. No more surprise appearances. No more following us. No more flowers, or notes or phone calls. No more photographs. No more invading our privacy. No more trying to tear us apart." Her hand lifted to rub a brow. "I'm going to say it only one more time. _I love my husband and have known since the day we met that there would be no one but him in my life, ever again._ Our marriage is real, and its _everything_ that I have ever dreamed we could have with one another. There is no place for you in our lives. There never was, and there never will be."

His face had darkened with anger throughout her speech, and now he laughed, almost maniacally at her. "I've told you before, Laura, he won't have you. I'm not giving up."

She slapped her hand down on the small ledge in front of her hard enough that the glass of shook and sparks of heat lit up her palm. "Listen to me, Roselli," she shouted angrily. "I'm done. Remington and I are both done. When the INS arrives to put you on that plane to Germany, we'll drop the charges… _conditionally._ If you _ever_ contact us or come near us again, we'll refile _every… single… charge_. We'll make sure you're fired. We'll work with the Mexican authorities to gather the proof needed that will assure your conviction for the solicitation of murder in Norman Keyes death. We'll find the proof that you set up Remington to be killed in London. We'll bury you so far and so deep in criminal charges, that you will never see the light of day again. _Am I making myself clear?!"_

"Crystal," he sneered, then leaned forward in his chair so far that his forehead nearly touched the glass between them. "Now, let me make myself clear. _He won't have you."_

Closing her eyes, she shook her head and took a deep breath before looking at the man again, then couldn't suppress the disgusted laugh that bubbled up from inside.

"Jarvis," she called, "I'm done here." Standing, she leaned forward to stare Roselli straight in his eyes. "The rest of your life, Tony. Take a look around you when you're taken back to your cell. Because if you come anywhere near us again, I promise… _I promise_ … that will be your view until the day you draw your last breath." Turning, she walked as gracefully as she possibly could, with the boot clonking on the floor beneath it, and left the visiting area without ever taking so much as a look back.

* * *

Closing the door to the apartment behind her, Laura took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She'd argued with herself throughout her ride home from the LAPD, and mind made up, prepared for the fight she was quite certain would be taking place shortly. She considered not telling Remington of her conversation with Roselli. After all, it was unlikely he'd ever find out about it, unless the news came from her. But, somehow, that felt like a betrayal. They'd worked hard on communication and honesty in their relationship since he'd returned from London, and to hide this from him would damage those efforts. _Better to tell him and deal with the inevitable backlash, than to keep it a secret and have it always between us,_ she reminded herself again.

Her resolve nearly broke when she entered the kitchen and saw her husband dressed in a pair of black jeans with a black, red and white checked shirt, left untucked and partially unbuttoned. Her mouth began to water and not due to the delicious smells emanating from the oven and stove. _Damn,_ she lamented. Her body had reacted viscerally to the sight of him, vibrating with need. She wanted nothing more than to slip her hands up under those shirt tails, and run them from stomach to chest over his warm, taut, skin… to let her fingertips trail through the silky, black hair that covered him there.

Forcibly tamping down her need – _thank God I've had almost four years of practice at that –_ she hoisted herself up to sit on the counter of the island, nicking a glazed green bean from the plates he'd already begun to fill. After taking the time to pull the pan of roasted lemon pepper chicken from the oven and to set it on the island nearby, Remington turned bright blue, affection filled eyes on his wife. He tasted her lips briefly, then unable to help himself, immediately leaned in to taste them again. Smacking his lips together with pleasure, he welcomed her home.

"All go well?" he asked.

"Report's all filed," she answered truthfully, while avoiding the topic of Roselli for the moment. "Did you find anything in the office?"

"Mmmmm," he hummed, while serving the chicken onto their plates. "Behind the curtains in both of our offices, the coffee maker in the breakroom, in the flowers in the reception area, and bugs in all our phones. I dare say, our privacy is now restored," he grinned at her.

"Good," she answered, then briefly hesitated before looking at him slyly from under her lashes. _Here goes nothing._ Taking a deep breath, she spoke the words. "I saw Roselli."

"Hmmmm," he hummed in acknowledgment, as he moved to the sink to clean the roasting pan. "How did that go?" She stared at his back as though he'd suddenly taken leave of his senses.

"F-f-fine," she stumbled. Giving a little shake of her head, she spoke again. "I made it clear that if he doesn't steer clear of us from here forward, I'll do whatever I can to make sure he spends the rest of his life behind bars." Confession over with, she sat back and waited for the explosion.

"I imagine he took that well, eh?" he inquired, as he dried the pan by hand and set it back in the cabinet from which it had come. Her brows furrowed, his reaction – or lack of one – thoroughly flummoxing her.

"About as you might expect," she confirmed. Her eyes followed him as he picked up their plates and carried them into the dining room.

He turned back to her, raising his brows expectantly once he set the plates down. Laughing low in his throat, he returned to the kitchen, and clasping his hands about her waist, lifted her down. "Care to join me? Dinner? Food? Sustenance?" His voice lowered, as a single finger traced her jawline. "Fuel for whatever fires may be stoked this evening?" He smiled when she trembled slightly, her imagination flaming to life at the words, his touch.

Giving in to the urge that had seized her when she first saw him a few minutes before, she slipped her hands under his shirt. Nipping at her bottom lip, she closed her eyes while her fingers explored the warmth of his stomach then chest. This time, it was he that trembled under her touch, at the heat in her sultry brown eyes when she opened them. With a great deal of willpower, he carefully extracted her hands, pressing his lips against the back of each.

"Food first, love. Can't have you petering out from hunger in the middle of the…" he brushed his lips against hers, "…festivities later, now can we? And if I know you at all, Mrs. Steele, I'd wager you've not eaten since breakfast this morning." She frowned slightly, trying to remember. Not that she'd admit he was right, of course.

"It smells wonderful," she said instead. He laughed knowingly, as he held out her chair for her.

They ate, at first in relative silence, while she grew increasingly uncomfortable, wondering when, precisely, he'd bring up her visit with Roselli. His hand reached across the table on occasion to brush his fingers against the back of her hand, stoking the fires that had flared to life as soon as she'd seen him in the kitchen when she came home. She glanced at him with uncertainty several times before finally sitting down her fork and approaching the topic head on.

"Alright, I can't take it any longer. Let me have it," she told him resignedly. He raised a brow at her as he took another bite of his food.

"What, exactly, am I to 'let you have'?" he asked, curiosity lighting his eyes.

"We both know you're not happy about my seeing Roselli…" He shrugged a shoulder.

"I'd have preferred that you not," he agreed, taking another bite of food while keeping his eyes on her.

"You're not angry?" Her brow furrowed, expressing her confusion. He sighed and set his fork down.

"Laura, we've been together going on half a decade now. Do you honestly believe that I didn't know before you ever took your first step out the Agency doors that you'd be unable to deny yourself the opportunity to have the final word with Roselli?" he queried.

"But you're not angry?" she tried again. Like Remington, there were still certain nuances of married life that continued to escape her.

"Did you place yourself at risk?" She shook her head.

"That's all I've ever asked of you, Laura. If I demanded anything more, it would simply be a dare for you to do otherwise," he pointed out, not for the first time in recent months. He pursed his lips, deciding to try another approach. "Are you upset with me for my, er… conversation… with the man?" She mulled the question only briefly.

"No," she answered easily, picking up her fork and resuming her meal. "I knew that if you ended up face-to-face with the man, you'd carry through on your promise to him in Cannes. Even if I'd been there, I couldn't have stopped you. You wouldn't have allowed him putting his hands on me again to go unanswered."

"Precisely. Being married doesn't change who we are. It only perhaps lends more weight to our…" he searched to for the right word, "…concerns… opinions… on certain matters." He shrugged. His general ease with the entire matter had her flashing her dimples at him. Taking a final, definitive bite of her food, she stood.

"Mr. Steele, I think I'd like that bath now." His eyes met hers. Taking in their molten brown depths and the flush already coloring her skin, he slowly set his fork back down on the table.

"Mmmmm, I can see that, Mrs. Steele." Standing, he gathered her in his arms, and kissed her softly, before giving her a smack on the fanny, drawing a laugh from her. "Why don't you get the bath ready, while I clean up out here and pour us a couple of glasses of wine?"

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, she pulled him down and gave him a long, lusty kiss. "Sounds like a plan," she agreed when she released him, grinning at his shortness of breath, the darkening of his eyes. Pleased with herself, she slipped from his arms and walked to the bedroom, leaving him shaking his head and smiling. _Passionate, indeed_ , he laughed to himself.

It was clear when he entered the bathroom that his enticing wife had an evening of seduction in mind. The lights of the bathroom were off and candles burned throughout the room. She'd set up the small boom box she normally took to the beach on the bathroom counter and soft music played low. His eyes traveled the length of her body, a body wrapped in one of his silk robes. She undressed him slowly, pressing her lips against, touching, each bared piece of flesh until he was breathing heavily. Only then did she let his robe slither off of her shoulders and drop to the ground. Stepping into the tub, she leaned back then held out a hand, having him stretch out between her legs and recline against her. They limited their conversation to small talk, interspersed with frequent kisses as she ran a soapy wash cloth over his skin. When she sat the wash cloth aside and began pressing kisses down his neck, suckling the skin of his shoulder, then lathing it with her tongue even as her hands stroked his chest and stomach, Remington tried to shift her so that he could exchange exquisite ministrations of the same kind with her. He felt her shake her head behind him.

"I want you in our bed," Laura murmured next to his ear. "I want every inch of you available…" she drew her fingers lightly up his body from waist to shoulder, smiling as she felt his body quake, "…to touch, to make love to." He groaned his agreement deep in the throat.

They adjourned to the bedroom after toweling off and she lost herself in his body, and he in her touch. When she straddled him hips to take him inside, she moaned softly and his eyes widened as he watched the brief flash of pain cross her face. Only then did he remember her injured ankle and he wondered how long it had been hurting her, as she'd touched, stroked, kissed his body endlessly. His hands reached to still her hips, and he carefully rolled them over until he perched above her on his elbows. He pressed his lips against her forehead, even as she tried to roll them again.

"You're hurting," he whispered. She shook her head, nudging at his shoulders.

"I'll be fine," she told him, her lips seeking skin and nudging him again.

"'Fine,'" he stole a kiss, "will never be an acceptable descriptor of our love making," he disagreed as he palmed a breast, his thumb circling its sensitive peak. "Exquisitely passionate…" his lips and tongue wandered from freckle-to-freckle, down the column of her neck to her shoulders "… earth moving… heart stopping… breath taking… awe inspiring… achingly wonderful…" he leaned forward to claim her lips, kissing her with an infinite tenderness that left her humming. Resting on his elbows, he thumbed her cheeks, even as her hips pressed against his, telling him what she wanted.

"Rem…" she softly pled, her amber eyes lit with a mesmerizing mix of love, passion, need. His back arched as her fingers feathered down his back, pressing his heat against hers.

"We'll be taking this slow, love," he stole a kiss from her lips before his lips wandered from cheek to brow to jaw, "Very… very… slow," he half-promised, half-warned, as flexed his hips to enter her.

"Slow is good," she murmured, her fingers wandered through his hair, across his shoulders, down his back, anywhere they could feel his flesh under them. "Very, very good," she amended breathily, as he slipped all the way inside.

"My God, babe," he whispered against her neck, as her muscles tightened around him. "It's everything…"

* * *

Sated, exhausted, and freshly showered, her head lay on his lap as her finger traced the lines of his hand.

"One down, one to go, eh?" Remington pondered. Tilting her head back, she looked at him questioningly. "We've disposed of Roselli, but we've still no idea who's twice now attempted to take us out." She frowned slightly, before returning her focus to his hand.

"Not to mention Mildred, more than likely," she noted quietly. He hummed his agreement. "Married life certainly hasn't been dull so far, has it?" she wondered aloud. He chuckled at her observation. His fingers trailed through her hair.

"Never thought for moment that it would be with you," he smiled.

"Murder…"she shook her head.

"Blackmail…" he provided in a much lighter tone.

"Threats of deportation…" she added, with a quirk of her lips.

"A jail break…"

"Espionage…"

"Obsession…"

"Traveling the globe…"

"A second wedding overlooking the Aegean…"

"A castle in Ireland…"

"Lord and Lady Steele…" Laughter bubble across her lips at the thought of their English titles.

"A new home…" Nudging her off of his lap, he slid down to his back, taking her into his arms.

" _Our_ home." He bussed the top of her head. "I couldn't ask for anything more."

"Nothing?"

"Well, maybe a couple of somethings," he amended. She stilled the hand that had been stroking his side. _Did he really just say that?_ She decided to test the waters.

"A couple?" she asked, peeking up at him through her lashes. He nodded, bussing her on the head again.

"One day, just not quite yet." She nodded her agreement.

"One day," she agreed aloud on a yawn. Her fingers tangled in the hair of his chest until her hand settled over his heart. She closed her eyes, concentrating on its steady thrum. "For now, I just want this…the two of us. It's…" her groggy mind searched for the word.

"Everything," he provided quietly, repeating his words from earlier in the evening. One hand stroked the length of her arm, as the other soothed the silk of her hair. She pressed her lips against his chest.

"Everything," she agreed. On a soft sigh, she sank into sleep, Remington following shortly after.

* * *

The phone rang shortly after 1 a.m. Laura wriggled her way closer to Remington in her sleep as he reached for the phone.

"Steele, here," he mumbled, voice sluggish from sleep.

"Mr. Steele, Josh Meyerson. Sorry to call so late but I thought you'd want to know immediately." Remington's eyes snapped fully open.

"Know what?" His mind raced away with him, wondering how he'd explain to Laura that Roselli had inadvertently been released from jail and was on the loose once more.

"A little over an hour ago, I personally watched a couple of agents with the INS accompany Roselli on a plane bound for New York. Once they arrive there, he'll be placed on a flight for Frankfurt. He's gone, Mr. Steele." Remington rubbed at his face with a hand.

"I appreciate you keeping us informed," he told the attorney, unable to think of anything more suitable.

"It's my pleasure. Good night, Mr. Steele."

Remington hung up the phone and snuggled back down into the bed with his wife. The tips of Laura's fingers rubbing against his chest told him she'd awakened.

"What did Meyerson want at this hour?" she asked sleepily.

He rolled to his side, taking her with him, then spooned around her warmth. Gathering her tight against him, he pressed his lips against her cheek.

"He's gone, Laura. Meyerson watch the INS escort him onto a plane an hour ago. He'll be out of the country soon." She nodded against his chest, her hand seeking his that lay against her stomach. Twining their fingers together, she pressed her lips against their joined hands then tucked them between her breasts.

"Happy belated anniversary, Mr. Steele?" She whispered the only words she could think of, as the relief settled over her. He nuzzled her head with his chin.

"Happy belated anniversary, Miss Holt," he agreed. _One down, one to go,_ he reminded himself again, as he drifted back to sleep.


	30. Epilogue

Epilogue

Remington could only watch as the man took Laura off her feet, slamming her hard into the wall behind her. Her head connected with a dull thud against the timber, dazing her. The knife held in her hand skittered across the floor. He rushed the man, shoulder low, as he watched his petite wife slip down to the floor with moan. Shoulder connected with gut, and both men landed on the floor, struggling to come up on top.

"Laura, okay?" Remington yelled to her. He stole a quick peek at her when his question went unanswered and watched her head loll. Shoving the man on top of him off, he made it to his feet. Lifting his fists, he tried again.

"Laura, okay?" Her silence was deafening and he turned fully to look at her, not noticing the knife in the man's hand was slicing towards him until the last second. He sucked his breath in hard as the blade sliced into his skin, but still managed to drop down and scurry towards his partner.

Murphy, finding no entrance at the rear side of the building rushed through the front door, grunting when the man shoved him into the wall before making his escape. Murphy scrambled to his feet, fast in pursuit of the man. He'd made it across the porch, when the sound of Steele's voice yelling his name made his blood run cold, the fear in that voice was so thick, so prevalent. Spinning on his heel, he'd just crossed the threshold when he spied Remington on his knees, holding Laura, the man's eyes nothing less than haunted.

"Get on your radio, call for help. _Now, Michaels_!" Turning his attention back to Laura, he brushed the hair away from her face. "Oh God, babe, what's happened to you?" he whispered.

(TBC in Part II of the Holt Tight, My Love series)


End file.
